Shadowcrest's Hammer Book One of the Nightingale's Odyssey
by Shadowcrest Nightingale
Summary: 1882, Trapped in the Bowery after illegally immigrating to late nineteenth century America, the ever resourceful Erik feverishly poured everything into establishing himself as an elite architect. Erik's iron perseverance is the only thing capable of breaking through the barrier to lift him from a ragged laborer to an enigmatic man of consequence. Based on Kay/Leroux.
1. Chapter 1

_**Shadowcrest's Hammer**_

 _ **Chapter 1**_

 _ **~Manhattan 1882~**_

"Can you just imagine it? I mean, to think the chef had claimed to be fully trained in French cuisine. The entire meal was completely beyond excuse. Had that been my chef I would have sent him back to France immediately to learn what true cuisine is." With his little finger elegantly crooked as he held the champagne flute, VanHollus half-hooded his eyes as he cast his gaze over his present company. Reclining in a high-back chair before the great hearth of his sitting room, he took a slow draw off his cigar. "I tell you, the Delucha family shall never live that dinner party down. Fully trained help can be difficult to find of late, with all the flotsam coming ashore from the immigration ships. Gah, it is simply dreadful. One would think Europe has more to offer."

Reed nodded his head in agreement before reaching into the pocket of his smoking jacket. Applying a little snuff to the back of his hand, he delicately inhaled it with a wrinkle of the nose. "My goodness, I was saying something similar to my wife on our recent summer trip to France. The architecture over there is simply unrivaled. What could be done to persuade some of their talent to come here to this island?"

VanHollus's eyes narrowed, the ashes on the end of his cigar trembled before being shaken loose. The eyes of the four gentlemen gathered about his hearth now fixed themselves upon Reed, who blanched the moment he caught his error.

"My apologies, VanHollus. Your architectural designs here are always a delight. I meant to say they are only rivaled by the great architects whose works grace the city of Paris." He flashed a quick smile beneath the thick mustache.

A slight upturn of VanHollus's chin dismissed the remark as he held up his glass. The waiting servant immediately rushed to his side and topped it off. Taking a delicate sip, VanHollus chuckled dismissively. "Indeed, Paris. As though the French alone understand stone. Come now, Reed, stone is stone throughout the world. What would a dandy like you who dabbles in textiles know of such refinement?"

"Ah. But have you been there? Have you seen their latest crown jewel? To stand in the marvel that is the Paris Opera! Even you might be humbled by its glory."

VanHollus flicked his fingers. "You are so easily impressed. It is a marvel that society still permits you to present yourself."

One by one, the men pointedly turned their gazes from Reed. Even those he knew had experienced the old world charms. Replacing the snuff box into his jacket, he fixed his lapel with a quick snap of fabric. If he was to be ostracized for speaking his mind at least he would finish. "I admire the ingenuity the project shows and it makes me wonder, if the man who constructed that project came to these shores what could he accomplish?"

 _ **~Erik~**_

I watched in bated anticipation as the hands of my pocket watch ticked away. Why did time always drag when you were waiting for something?

 _Bang, bang, bang._

The racket continued, echoing in a cacophony from below.

Truly, it must be on time today!

Glancing out the open window, I heaved a sigh into the sticky air of the city anticipating disappointment. Rays of sunshine baked the soot covered world below my fourth story vantage point.

"Where are you!" The minute hand crept closer to ten after.

 _Bang, bang, bang._

"Erik? What are you—" Nadir's inquisitive voice was cut off by my hand slashing the air.

"Shh!" Craning my head into the still air, I strained my ears through the rumble of horse-drawn carriages. Was that what I thought it was?

"Erik?"

"In a minute!" I snapped, feeling my heart begin to race. Oh yes! My nails bit into the dry rotted windowsill as I leaned out as far as I could without the threat of falling. Not that I was concerned, heights had never bothered me.

 _Bang, bang, bang._

The entire structure began to shake, quaking as the blast of a horn announced the 4:10. I held my breath as the loud rumble reached its crescendo. The engine appeared on the elevated tracks.

 _Bang, bang, bang._

My eyes focused on one point, one critical point in the whole of this dingy little world. The metallic grind of wheels against their tracks covered the sound, but that was what made this all the more devious.

I was _nowhere_ in the vicinity of the trigger.

Under the tons of speeding train the rope severed, releasing the precariously balanced counterweight. It plummeted, carrying anything that happened to be attached to it through the series of pulleys. It was working! Every calculation played out exactly as it had in my mind, all that needed to happen was …

Below me a tremendous crash erupted accompanied by a pair of rather alarmed screams.

The banging had stopped.

Throwing my hands in the air, I crowed triumphantly, "Right on time!"

Almost directly in the middle of the cobblestone street where the makeshift trebuchet had launched it, lay the twisted bed frame surrounded by shards of soot frosted glass. Well, everything in the Bowery was covered in soot. That state was entirely unavoidable with the passing elevated trains.

"What have you done!" Nadir rushed to the window staring down in horror at the mess. His frantic eyes followed the ropes and pulleys strung in a crude calculated manner to the elevated train track before turning on me accusingly.

"Why is it you always assume I am the one to blame?"

"You usually are!"

The outraged cries of the harlot, glaring up at me through her busted window, drew more attention to the disaster. "You demented freak! I was trying to work down here!"

Casting her a chastising glare, I snapped, "As I have been trying to work up here. For everyone's sake at least get a sense of rhythm if you are going to make us all hear it."

"To hell with you!"

"Living above you, I am already there."

She slammed the window frame shut.

People. Always doing such pointless tasks. Without a pane of glass, the action did her no good. About as constructive as this afternoon's idle scribbling before I was driven to distraction. A firm hand on my shoulder forced my gaze towards the seething Persian. I was no longer certain who was more upset about this afternoon's antics; the woman who now had a permanent breeze in her apartment or Nadir.

"Well." I gestured down into the middle of the Bowery where the horse-drawn carriages nimbly navigated past the wreckage. "I solved the noise disturbance issue the landlord was ignoring."

His foot tapped the floor repeatedly. "You call that being a good neighbor?"

"You mean to Rosie, Laurel, Ave Maria... whatever the hell her name is? By now I swear I have heard a hundred names shouted by her esteemed clients." Leaving the window open to the summer heat to provide at least a little ventilation, I shrugged as I took the five steps needed to reach the desk in the back of the room. Desk was a rather generous term. Really it had once been a shipping crate that held some of my belongings during our crossing of the Atlantic. Ripping the boards apart, I had cobbled together the crude work-space that generously introduced splinters while I worked. Tossing a few rolled up pages aside, I offered him a shrug. "Would you call the hours she keeps being a good neighbor? Truly, it is not as though anyone in this tenement can ignore the thin walls. Miracle the structure is still standing."

He held up a stern finger. "That doesn't grant you the right to pull the bed out from underneath her and relocate it in the street! There are far better uses for your skills than being the architect of elaborate pranks."

A chuckle escaped me.

Burying his face in his hands, he muttered, "Each day that passes I worry about the consequences of you dwelling in this new country."

"Might I remind you precisely whose brilliant idea that was to take our exile here."

Nadir's expression soured before he thrust his hand toward the window. "How did you get the rope down there and attached to the bed? A train, Erik! You used a train track in your contraption!"

Blatantly ignoring him I opened the bottle of ink and dipped the quill into it as I unrolled a draft. "That crack in the ceiling is looking worse than when we moved in. I am not interested in having a skylight in the bedroom, dismal as that room is." My left hand traced a graceful arch on the page as I smiled. "At least now there is a little peace, until the next train comes through to shake everything off the walls."

"For the hundredth time, I'm sorry that there weren't better rooms available." Approaching the desk he cast a worried glance back toward the window. "The Bowery was the only ward where anyone would speak to me after we left the ship, Erik. Immigrants are not left with many options, especially illegal ones. I had hoped this place would be temporary."

"And it is." Adding a few embellishments to the design, I let the quill walk across the page making real my vision. Now that I had silenced the disruptions in the apartment below me, I had just enough time to add the details before meeting a potential client. "Long enough for me to get my business established. It is simply taking longer than anticipated."

He picked up a few drafts that had fallen. "You deserve better than this squalor."

"This rather aromatic district calls to mind the conditions that pervaded much of Tehran when first you brought me to your shah's crumbling city all those years ago. Even the rats had been ashamed of their holes in the walls. What a travesty that after I built him that lavish palace in Ashraf, he went back on his promise of permitting me to rebuild the capital city, choosing instead the distasteful option of relieving me of my head. Which I was rather reluctant to part with."

Clearing his throat, Nadir muttered, "I assure you, had I been able to convince him otherwise I would have tried. Family or not, I was only the daroga and already rapidly falling out of favor. When I left his presence I had to be certain he was convinced I was intent upon carrying out his desire for your execution."

"A fairly convincing act. You had me wondering briefly of how much longer I had to inhale the fetid air of his rotting kingdom." With a roll of my eyes, I spat out a colorful Italian curse. "Spoiled rotten nobility, so long as their daily comfort remains unimpeded they refuse to spare even a glance for anything beyond their little worlds. It is lamentable but repeatedly proven that it is merely a condition of human nature. Every country is rife with it." Seating the quill back into the holder, I pushed up from the desk. "By now you should know I have managed through worse than this. Our living conditions are regrettable, and something that needs to be remedied. However, it is transient. I have but to earn a client here who sees beyond the scrawling lines on the page. A man who sees my vision and appreciates its worth. I had hoped it would have been only a month or two." I shrugged. "No matter, I have plans to secure a stone quarry in the near future and with that the clients should begin to take me seriously."

His eyes studied every bit of me as I shoved my arms into my jacket. Shaking his head he looked away. "When is the last time you looked in a mirror, Erik?"

Checking to be certain my mask was tied on tightly enough, I cast him a sidelong glare. "A mirror? Truly you think you are amusing with such an asinine question. What? Am I not bearing myself with enough dignity?"

He grasped the cuff of my jacket. "Your bearing is fine."

This was my best jacket, the one with the satin lapels and the gold buttons … and time had reduced it to a glorified rag. Daring to look down at my vest, I noted dismally that rogue threads pockmarked the once tight brocade now hanging faded against the thin, grayed shirt. My trousers were not far from letting the sun shine upon my knees. I resembled an upper class beggar.

He locked eyes with me. "Never mind the mask you must wear, your mismatched eyes, or your lack of ready access to raw stone. The condition of your clothing may be why they won't take you seriously."

"Well … " What could I say to that? To the elite of society, I may as well have been wearing rags with a bowl in my hand braying _alms for the poor_. Tugging on the frayed cuff, I straightened the sleeve and cleared my throat. "New clothing takes hiring a tailor. Tailors require money in exchange for their services. Money that cannot be spared at this precise moment. So … it is but another regrettable condition. I shall just have to redouble my efforts to win them with my good nature."

Nadir buried his face in his hands. "We're going to die here."

Snatching the draft from the desk I quipped, "With an attitude like that surely we shall. I can be rather charming when I desire to be."

"The only chance you have is using your voice to enthrall them to your will."

My spine stiffened at the suggestion. "Absolutely not! I thought we agreed that such deceptions were to be left in the past. That part of me is dead."

"But if we … "

"No!" I slashed the air with the draft. "This time it is to be my own merit! No tricks and manipulations. I can do this, Nadir. I have done it before, your belly will simply have to tighten for a bit longer."

His shoulders fell even as his fingers peeled the congealed wax drippings from the candle on the desk. The thin rays of light from the window outlined the bones already showing through his olive toned skin. His aged body yearned for more nourishment than could be obtained. In the quiet hours of the night, as I worked by the candlelight I could hear his belly protesting the meager offerings as he fought for sleep in the other room. Times were difficult, it was true. But we were far from hopeless.

Striding to the door, I draped a cloak over my shoulders with a backward glance. "There are worse places than this hovel. Not many, but there are worse places on this earth. I will be back this evening with my first contract. You shall see."

The shoddy staircase connecting the four stories was so narrow the tips of my cloak touched both sides as I vaulted down the first flight, eager to venture north into a more opulent area of Manhattan to the home of my potential client. I didn't hear the door open as I passed by. A sudden tension on my cloak halted my progress. I turned to find the harlot glowering out her door, the once fine cashmere of my cloak grasped firmly in her fingers.

"Where do you think you're going?" she snapped.

Extracting my cloak from her grasp, I retraced one step to bring me back up to the landing. I was so close I watched her breath stir the rolled draft in my hand. Lifting my chin, I replied blandly, "Off to a meeting, with a more respectable client."

From behind her, a grubby man shambled out the door, a slight hitch to his step as he pulled his pants all the way up. He shoved past me as he tugged a cap over his greasy hair. I noted he lifted his lip. I could not be certain, but I thought I heard him muttering something about a bruise in a rather uncomfortable region of the male anatomy.

Stabbing her finger up towards me she declared, "What did you think you were doing? You destroyed my apartment!"

"I have no idea what you are talking about." I replied with mock innocence, despite our prior exchange.

"I know it was you!"

Shrugging my shoulders I tapped the draft against my thigh. "What a ridiculous notion. How could it have been me? There are no signs of your door having been forced open, and the only other access would be through the window. Three stories above the cobblestone street? That is an incredulous idea! Must have been one of your upset customers always screaming in your room."

"How dare you!" Heatedly she pressed forward, bringing my foot to the edge of the landing. "My customers are always satisfied! I don't know how you managed it, but I know you are responsible and you will fix it."

Fixing her with a disinterested gaze I suggested, "Go find yourself a lonely carpenter. Satisfy him enough and perhaps he will simply do an exchange of services. Now, good day."

As I turned to leave she stomped her foot hard enough that the old wooden board cracked beneath her. "You think you are too good for this place, you ass! That's it, isn't it? Well some of us don't have many options to earn our daily bread. I hope you get run over by your client's carriage!"

I was halfway to the second floor when I heard her door slam. Well, what a pleasant little darling she was. I didn't have time to dwell upon her tirade. Gripping the draft tightly in my gloved hand, I smiled at the prospect of success as I strode out onto the street. Soon enough I would be standing in the cozy parlor of my client.

This is the crucial key to extracting myself from this collection of vile refuse.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Now, if I can draw your attention to the cornices." I stood in the middle of the grandiloquent parlor, pointing at key areas of the draft stretched out in Mister Polstern's hands. Eagerly I found myself launching into how I had incorporated all the elements that he had asked for. A few minutes had already passed since I had been shown in by the footman where Polstern stood waiting in his embroidered smoking jacket. He had set his glass of Bordeaux aside when I entered the room. On the silver platter more empty crystal glasses sat waiting to be offered in hospitality. Waiting …

Withdrawing his hand from the edge of the draft, Polstern studied his fingers before rubbing them together. Half-closing his eyes he lifted his chin and proceeded to discard the draft into my previously pointing hands. "I must say this is not what I was looking for."

"Mister Polstern," I cleared my throat, fighting for composure even as I felt a bead of sweat trailing down behind the mask. "You expressed interest in the classical Italian—"

He cut me off with a wave of his hand. Picking up the glass of Bordeaux he turned his back to me. "I have another, more reputable architect who shall be here momentarily. My servant will show you out."

My hands tightened around the precious draft. I had spent countless hours capturing every last element he had requested down to the last detail. What had made him change his mind? Trying to keep a note of confidence in my voice I proceeded, "If you should change your mind … " The words faded off as quite suddenly I discovered I could not complete the statement with my dignity intact.

I didn't need to, as Polstern waved me out of the room. "I can safely assure you that shall not happen. Good day."

His servant gestured toward the doorway even as I fought to keep my head from bowing.

What had I done? What had I said?

Escorted out into the bright summer evening, I twisted my hands around the precious draft. The moment I opened my hand I saw it. Soot. Unrolling the draft I discovered to my horror the entire page was peppered with the fine dust. His fingers rubbing together … I was such a fool!

Trudging through the street, I heaved a sigh. Was it any wonder he had dismissed me? How was I going to keep soot from infesting my drafts? It was _everywhere_ in the Bowery thanks to the elevated trains rumbling through. Daring to look around in this affluent neighborhood, I was instantly struck by how well maintained everything was. People strolled along the streets politely greeting each other with a nod and a slight bow. Attired in fine wools, brocades, satins and silks with lace trims there was no rushing about, just a leisurely pace. As I passed by the lace curtained windows of the marbled halls, servants were setting out fine feasts. Families were already seated, dining on fine cuts of meat and overflowing dishes. Wine, deep red glowing like rubies in crystal glasses … oh God it had been too long since I had tasted wine. My mouth watered at thoughts casting back to my wine cellar in Paris.

It had been my ideal existence removed from the intrusion of society. My beautiful home, secretly built by my hands precisely how I wanted it. Rooms to spare with places to work on my inventions, a music room to compose. I even had running water and a real hearth. And my crown jewel—my pipe organ. Oh how I missed the rich tones of that blessed instrument! With unlimited resources and a few well selected connections to supply me what I needed, I lived a first class existence where no one would have suspected anyone would be living. Every bit of my once perfect dwelling had been concealed under the fifth basement of the Paris Opera on the shores of the underground lake where I had lived as contentedly as it was possible for a man of my nature.

Until my reckless actions compromised that. The Paris Opera above had been my kingdom. How I had taken all that comfort for granted!

Before long I grew weary of the pain inflicted upon me as I glanced the windows of the well-to-do. For each time I glimpsed my own reflection I faced the shadow of my former self. How had I failed to notice the fraying, the bagging at the seams of the once fine cashmere wool? Both my shirt and gloves were no longer spotless white, time tinged with gray. The mask … my white mask, how had I failed to note the staining? I had more than one, just as I owned more than one suit in the finest style of French evening wear: the tailored black tailcoat. However, what I currently wore was the best condition I had left, and nothing was unmarred by the Bowery's dismal condition. Not even … me.

My only saving grace was the setting of the sun casting my tattered frame in the blessed shadows of the promised night. On the long walk south, accompanied by the complaints of my stomach, I felt the sting of the tears that threatened to fall. By the time I dragged my feet up the narrow stairs of the pungent tenement building my head was bowed under the weight of the realization. The words repeating over and over in my mind … _a more reputable architect_. I had convinced myself I had this contract. It was perfect, after all I had trained in Italy, steeped on the classical architecture. I caressed with my own hands every nuance of the various styles. The draft in my hand contained the ideal … but Polstern never even saw the draft in his hands. All he had seen was … what I had become. No one here on these shores knew who I was, and I didn't dare tell them!

How could I possibly make my promise to Nadir come true? That we would get out of this fetid district before another winter.

The broken floor board creaked under my dusty shoe. Pensively I cast my eyes at the closed door. Her closed door. My gut twisted as her words came back to me. Not the names she called me, as I forced myself to begrudgingly admit perhaps she had cause for all those. I had been rather callous. No. It was what she had said … choices to earn daily bread. What would I do if I could not establish myself as an architect? I owed her an apology. But my contemptible pride barred me from knocking on that door. It would mean admitting … admitting … that in the months I had spent in this wretched place I was being reduced to … one of them.

The enraged growl from my stomach echoed in the vacant staircase. Nadir and I had to eat. My resources were no longer unlimited if I wished to have any prospects. If I was honest with myself, there was another hunger that would eat into our already strained funds. The hands of time were ticking away while I was playing the fool.

Pulling myself up the last flight, I quietly slid into the darkened apartment. Casting a glance into the shadowed bedroom, scarcely larger than the rag stuffed mattress on its rusted spring frame, Nadir had already settled under the thin blanket.

Good, the old man needed his sleep. I flung the wasted draft across the room without a care where it landed. Stripping off the cloak I hung it on the peg by the doorway before removing my jacket and dropping it on the drafting table. Who was I trying to fool? The mask that hid my hideously deformed face was no longer the greatest obstacle for me to overcome. Here, it never had been. I was a Bowery immigrant and the elite would be hard pressed to see beyond the stains of this wretched existence, regardless of where I had originated from.

Idly my hand picked up my beloved Stradivarius, the violin that had been my companion through so much across the reaches of Eurasia. It bore all the markings of the master … the only signature I cared about was her sound. Leaning onto the window frame, I felt the cool air of the summer night. Moonlight shimmered down on me. Even though the streets below teamed with people entertaining their vices in this labyrinth of human sins that was the Bowery, the moment I placed the bow to the strings and let her voice ring out … the world vanished.

Closing my eyes, I lost myself in the music, letting the somber melody of my heart pour out, my fingers guiding the notes on their journey. Agony … sorrow … loss … the degradation of reality came to life through her mournful voice. I wanted to go back home. More than anything I wanted to return to my Parisian sanctuary where I was the ruler of my own destiny, where I was someone important, someone of influence …

Sobs rent the night air. At first I wondered if they were mine, a fitting companion to the violin's lament. Yet, I was oddly calm, the violin's notes my falling tears. No, what I heard was not my voice. Even wrapped in the throws of the music I could tell by a simple turn of my head that the weeping came from behind me.

The bedroom. Nadir. He shouldn't have come here to America. He had no reason to share my dismal fate. Why hadn't he remained in Paris still receiving his pension from the Persian court? Instead he had thrown it away, made certain I was safely smuggled aboard the ship across the Atlantic, made sure I kept my promise never to return to Paris again. Paris … my Paris … where _she_ lived. No … I was dead to her and must remain so.

The tear fell free as I let the last note ring. Opening my eyes, I lowered my violin in silent thanks. Below me, outlined in the shafts of moonlight, motion caught my eyes. The flash of her amber colored hair as she ducked back from the shattered window, the retreat of her hand into the shadows of her apartment confirmed my suspicion.

Laying back against the window frame, I inhaled deeply staring out into the jagged outlines of the city. Maybe I wasn't any different than anyone else who had come here with a dream of starting over. I cringed at the arrogant way I had flaunted, crowing like a cock at dawn in the barnyard, above it all.

All I had managed was to mire myself, refusing to see the rut that prevented my progress. Where would I go from here? How much further could I fall?


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

My eyes disobeyed me again, stealing a glance at the ornately carved box on the shelf across the room. Each accursed time they dared to defy me it took a greater conscious effort to still my trembling. This was a fight I knew I could never hope to win. Slamming the quill into the ink bottle, I forced my eyes back to the lines on the paper stretched out on the desk. The sweltering heat of mid-day plastered my rough spun cotton shirt to my chest. My mind wandered back to the fine tailored garments I had worn in Paris. What clothing I had managed to bring overseas had sadly worn out. Regretfully, Nadir and I had been left with few options to acquire replacements. No cashmere wool or richly dyed brocades cut to the precise fit of my gracile body. Nowhere in sight were the starched white shirts with their mother-of-pearl buttons. Instead we were forced to find garments that had known a former life. To accommodate my height and my frame, everything became shapeless, hanging like faded sack-cloth with a fairly similar texture against the skin. I would have risked venturing further toward the opulent districts for better clothing but, even now as my eyes stared at the lines on the draft, I knew the funds to purchase the quarry must remain intact.

The creaking of the steps carried through the thin walls. There was a slight favoritism in one footstep over the other. Nadir. His knee had been bothering him again and he had refused to tell me. In a way I appreciated the unusual cadence, it meant I need not leave the desk and lurking behind the door until the footsteps passed. Forcing myself to release my hand from the hilt of the knife tucked beneath my shirt, I caught my eyes stealing another glance at the box. I rammed them closed, cursing just under my breath as Nadir opened the door.

"Oh, I wasn't certain you would be in." His false cheerfulness was undercut by a heavy note. "I had gone to bed and had the strangest of dreams. No matter, last night you were so late, I figured you must have been celebrating."

Forcing the quill to trace a now aimless line, I muttered, "Indeed, that was such a logical conclusion." Abysmally I tried to draw a straight line only to produce one severely affected by the growing tremor. _Oh hell!_

Approaching the desk, Nadir offered me a quizzical glance before his eyes found the discarded draft from the day before. "He was looking for classical Italian, Erik. Who better than a man apprenticed in Italy to carry that out. You told him where you learned, didn't you?" He paused before adding frantically, "What happened?"

I laid the quill on the desk without an upward glance. With a trembling finger I touched the paper and slid it across the rough surface. Left behind in its wake was a gray smudge, the stain of the Bowery. " **That** is what happened." I declared, glaring at the mark.

Taking Polstern's draft into his hands, he spread it out stuttering, "But … but … it's beautiful! The design matching the grandest of estates of—"

The thud of my fist coming down onto the table silenced him. "Will never be built because of the filth we are forced to live in! They do not see **me**! All they see is this!" I held up my hands before him, pale fingers stained gray with soot.

Pensively he studied them, before slowly rolling the draft back up and placing it reverently on the desk. "The danger begins to grow again. Your moods are once more unpredictable."

"Unpredictable? Unpredictable?" I laughed bitterly. "Let me put it in better perspective for you and I assure you only a fool would not have seen my foul mood coming! In a few minutes time, with more attention paid to some soot that transferred to his gloves, Polstern dismissed me. There was no hospitality offered. We never even sat down. Nadir, that is a gross insult! You expect me to take that with good grace? Even I have limits."

"Clearly you are reaching them." He sighed, letting his head fall.

"Of course I am growing ill-tempered." A look of utter dismay crossed Nadir's face I stalked across the room, my hand snatching the box from the shelf. Unabashedly I rammed a small corner of the opium cake into my enameled ivory pipe, I'll be damned if I would suffer this accursed trembling anymore. Throwing open the cast iron door to the coal stove, I was prepared to use the corner of a rejected draft to light the pipe when I felt Nadir's fingers wrap around the ivory. It was a futile effort to tug it from my desperate grasp. "Do not even try it!" I spat.

Maintaining his lock, he cast me a sorrow laden gaze. "I thought you were going to quit this abysmal habit. The cost is too great for this imported vice."

Looming over him I narrowed my eyes. "The cost is far greater if I stopped, Nadir. Do you wish to live to see tomorrow or have me slaughter you in a fit of intense paranoia? How many times must I tell you that the opium is the only thing I have found that allows me to remain even somewhat reasonable. It was only you who thought it a prudent idea to stop. I never actually agreed to it. With the way things are currently going, I likely never will."

He cringed before releasing my hand, his shoulders falling beneath his tweed jacket. "I never should have introduced you to it … all those years ago in Persia. I should have known what it would do to you given, your impulsive nature."

"You give yourself too much credit." I scoffed, watching the red embers as I touched the crumbled corner of the paper to them. "Besides, what would have happened if you had left me to the khanum's gift of hashish? In the end your action saved more lives then we shall ever know. Possibly even all of Persia."

His jade eyes rimmed with sorrow as he watched me. Touching the flame to the cake I watched the fire work its magic until it caught enough to release the blessed balm that held the power to quell the clawing inside. The beast inside me needed to sleep. And it would not do so willingly. I wished my actions to be driven by acts of construction … the demon inside me would turn my creative nature ever towards destruction if I failed to restrain him. Taking in a breath of the sweet smoke, I felt it already coating my senses, wrapping them in an isolating blanket. The piece was small, it would burn quickly lasting only long enough to chase back the harsh bite of withdrawal.

Striding back to the desk, I dropped down into the creaking chair with a sigh. "Relax, I know this must last longer than it used to. I am doing everything I can to ration myself."

"It's not just that." Nadir's heavy steps carried him to the window, his eyes rimmed with tears as he looked out at the packed streets. "Another day of nothing … from the both of us. I even went early again to the morning lines hoping for a chance at some day labor. All those hours for nothing, just a man who eventually pushed on my shoulder and shouted at me." He a made garbled attempt at the words that were not of any language he spoke. His native tongue was Persian, and I had painstakingly taught him French.

Taking another draw off the pipe, I closed my eyes sorting out the strange syllables. "Ah, the man was speaking English. Seems to be the most prominent language here. I believe he was saying 'Shuffle off, Old Man'." For his benefit, I also translated it into Persian.

"Old man?" He bristled, an action that only grew more pronounced as I succumbed to laughter. "Old man! What are you giggling about? You are younger than me by only a few years at the most! So what is the shame of being a man of fifty-three years?"

Taking the final draw from the pipe as the opium burned off, I tried to swallow the unfortunate giddiness that accompanied the heady fumes. "Nothing, my old friend. Take pride in the fact that you have lived this long … only to die starving in the gutter."

"This isn't funny, Erik!" He stabbed a finger at the shelf which more or less served as our larder. "There is no food and what resources you managed to bring over from Paris will not last forever."

Leaning back, I felt the rough splinters of the desk nipping at my arms through my thin sleeves. With a wave of my hand I offered him a grin. "They do not have to, there are many ways to obtain food."

He blanched. "Theft? No, Erik! I will not let you resort to stealing."

I rolled my eyes. "Why ever not?"

Stalking to face me, he gestured to the world outside our window. "For many reasons. The basest of which it is wrong. The most critical being if you were caught and thrown in prison we would both die!"

With a smirk I protested, "Entirely unfounded observation. I would never get caught. The only reason you ever saw any of my legerdemain was because I wanted you to." Holding up a hand, I prevented him from going further. "We are not yet at that point where you shall have to grapple with morals to prevent your untimely death. Let us save this conversation for that point. For now, I have another suggestion. Let us increase your chances of being selected from the day laborer lines by teaching you how to speak English."

"You don't have the time."

"Nonsense. I can draft and listen to your attempts simultaneously. Since I have currently crossed the last potential client off the list, time it seems is all I have." I swallowed my pride, picking the pipe up off the desk. I crossed the room to put it out of sight until the inevitable hunger won the argument once more.

"Erik?" His eyes examined me from beside the table as he seemed to struggle with asking the question on his mind. "With all the languages you have mastered … what one do you think in?"

Blinking slowly, I found myself having to ponder this strange query. This was hardly something I was conscious of, and by now after all my travels throughout Europe and Asia, I rapidly slipped into whichever language I was addressed in at will. "I … well … it changes, really. Depends upon the one I have used most recently. At the heart of things it hardly matters which words are employed, provided their meaning is known."

He shook his head. "I envy you that skill."

Placing the box on the shelf I sighed, "You would not envy me the reason for obsessing over honing it. It seemed to be the only way to be certain of the intentions of the world around me. I would not be cheated, lied to or deceived."

The growl of Nadir's stomach interrupted the silence. He turned into the shadows, the light from the window catching the silver tarnishing his once black hair.

"You know where I concealed the box." I shrugged. "Go ahead, the market carts will still be there for sometime."

Fixing me with a glare, he pointed at an unassuming area of the wall. "I suppose you think it's amusing to watch me try and get it out of there."

I leaned against the window frame with a wry grin. "Well, good entertainment is difficult to find these days. I look for it wherever I can."

Spitting out a long string of Persian curses, he lay on the floor pawing at the wooden kick board. His only having the advantage, a vague clue of where the secret access was. "Never heard of placing money in a bank?"

I chuckled, "Might as well throw it out the window. Trust me, I can keep it far safer with my own devices."

"Oh, with your meddlesome fingers there is no doubt." Locating the hidden access he pushed his arm all the way up to the shoulder. With a series of grunts he contorted his body in every attempt humanly possible from the awkward position. "Infernal contraption! By Allah, how did you manage to get that in there?"

Studying my fingernails I grinned. He would never trip it, no matter what he did. There was a secret to it, right within plain sight. Extracting him from the hole I laid down on the floor and also pushed my arm into the space all the way up to my shoulder. At the tips of my fingers I felt the catch that held the small box in place. It had been set so that only someone with my arm length stood a chance of tripping the release. The box dropped down into my waiting hand. Nadir grumbled when I pulled the hoard free from concealment.

Inside the metal box was what remained of my once vast fortune. That was possibly the single most depressing part, just how small of a box contained it. Plucking a handful of coins from the box I flicked them into Nadir's hands. "Here, spend it wisely."

He could not hide the withering glance at the small stack of paper money I had bound in twine. This could not be spent, these were the funds I required to purchase the quarry. Without it, our hope of ever leaving this tenement died … and very likely us along with it. Though there was still some unbound money, its presence was growing scanter by the week. Closing the box, I replaced it and reset the wooden trim to hide the access. I hoped he bought something other than cabbage. Truly I wasn't a picky eater, but there had been too many days on end of tepid cabbage water.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Erik?" It was no more than a faint whisper in the darkened room. No need for more volume in such a cramped space.

"Mmm?" Cracking my eyes open I stared at the wall from where I lie on my left side in the single bed. Behind me, Nadir lay on his back, both under the same blanket on a mattress just barely wide enough for the two us. To say that this arrangement grated on my nerves was an understatement. Something that he was well aware of. Lucky for him I wasn't prone to sleeping much. Often he had this room to himself.

At my response, he shifted his weight, the rusted springs squeaked. "Do you ever think back to Persia on nights like tonight. Do you miss it? Think back to all the finery the shah showered upon you? All the fine foods you secreted to the animals in his private menagerie? Food that now you and I both could use?"

Ah yes, what a grand comparison. Let's just remember the vast assortments of sweetmeats. Especially after the evening's fine meal of boiled beef and a stale roll washed down by tea brewed so weak it was scarcely more than water. As daroga of Mazanderan his duties would have called for an occasional session of torture. An act that need not require any manner of physical injury depending upon the recipient. Such a tactic as dangling comforts before someone was indeed a cruelty I doubted crossed his mind in these small hours of the night.

When I didn't answer he continued, "Your chambers in the royal palace, the fine silk sheets, the elegant robes … "

"That glorious marble bath." I didn't realize I had said that aloud until Nadir sat up.

"Of all that you were offered in Persia you were in awe over a bath?"

Rolling onto my back, I caught his eye shine in the dark room. I wondered briefly how much of my unmasked face he could see. Blessedly the night would hide the worst of it. "You apparently have no idea how incredible it is to find a solid block of marble that flawless. Michelangelo himself might have killed for access to such a rare treasure."

He cradled his head in his hands on the verge of laughter. "Years of trailing your every move and I know I will never really understand you."

"Nor I you." I quipped, "I thought you were content that I was going to get some sleep for once. Why are you chattering?"

A long sigh filled the silence.

"Ah, you are homesick." I closed my eyes. "Surprising after all this time. Decades since you left, exiled from your homeland by your once beloved shah."

A light slap on my shoulder accompanied his rebuke. "He was never my _beloved_ shah! He was family!"

"And the moment you were of no use to him he ordered you imprisoned for a time followed by an exile." I offered him a wry smirk, "Scarcely better than the fate of a foreigner accused of treason." I was familiar with that fate. "What a shame you did not carry out the sentence he ordered you to. He had picked such a nice place to mount my severed head. You know, he had the loveliest of gardens. If I had to chose another gem of those days it would be strolling through those serene pathways. It would not have been a bad view."

"Erik! How can you joke about that?"

I shrugged against the pillow, shifting my arm up to cradle my head. "Why not? You shied away from your duty as executioner when you cut the ropes and let me go. You speak as though _my_ action was the strange one. Why you ever tempted fate with your shah by staying in that court is beyond me. You may have been better fleeing the same overgrown roads I took."

He looked out of the open bedroom door to the reflected lights from the street, his thoughts visibly plaguing him. "I could never have carried out that despicable sentence. Between the shah and his khanum they abused your skills, bleeding your talents dry. Even though they lavished the finery on you, it was paltry offerings as a reward for your genius."

"Nadir, have you been smoking my opium?"

"No." His voice was still distant, leaving me to wonder what deeper thought was plaguing him. "No … I have been thinking about how much blind sacrifice there was in service of my family. And to what end? I had no choice. But you … nothing tied you to that kingdom of horrors. You didn't have family there."

" _Famille_." I let the word ring out in my native tongue, and even that sweet language left a bitter taste in my mouth. "In truth, Nadir, I have never had family anywhere. Thus it is a foreign concept for me to comprehend. So you must forgive me when I look down upon the ritualistic sacrifice of blood relatives deemed unworthy of the family name. It is barbaric."

His eyes drifted down to meet my idle gaze. "Barbaric. This accusation from the khanum's favorite assassin."

Without a pause, I replied, "Was it not you who emphasized not to question orders? Or was there an implication that I missed in one of your numerous lectures?"

"You mean the ones you blatantly ignored."

I clicked my tongue. "Just because I refused to prostrate myself before your insolent shah. You just refuse to admit that you lacked the conviction to defy him until I proved to you it could be done."

Even in the darkness, I saw the color rise into his cheeks. For a moment, it honestly surprised me. In all these years I had always suspected his association with me had goaded him, but that was only an assumption. I had never intended to bring about his ruin. That was a unique talent I would give anything to overcome. It seemed just about anything I touched would one day crumble in an epic disaster. Not an effect I intended.

Nadir took a deep breath. I had to hold my own to hear him speak. "If my insolent shah had not sent me on that dreadful journey to bring you to his court, I swear I never would have seen him for the what he truly was. I'd still be his obedient servant, the daroga of Mazanderan."

"Which means you would still have that beautiful home surrounded by your servants. Had you been wise you would have obeyed your shah all those years ago." Rolling away from him, I yawned, "Now go to sleep, Daroga."

"That is not my title anymore!" He snarled, flopping down on the bed.

There was no way he could see the devious smile I let play on my face in the darkness. A long silence passed before once again he meekly inquired.

"You aren't still sleeping with that knife under your pillow?"

Wearily I let my arm dangle over the side of the bed. For once I actually did want to sleep. "If I am to sleep at all, yes. The blade is always within reach."

He shuffled away from me as far as he could. "I wish you wouldn't. How many times must I be stabbed in my sleep?"

"Than do not move."

"I have a better suggestion." I felt the blanket shift as he pulled it tighter around himself. "Learn to control your reflexes."

Quiet laughter escaped me. "You ask the impossible. Those very instincts are the reason I am still walking this earth and many who wished me harm are not. I repeat, lie still and no harm will befall you."

"We need to get another bed."

"You know I can accurately throw a knife across the room."

He swallowed audibly.

"Sleep well, Nadir."

Finally he was silent, I did not envy him the dreams he would have.

 _ **~Erik~**_

No! Not here, not now! I wanted to rest in the embrace of a deep sleep. So why did I find myself huddled in the middle of the mirrored wilderness? Oh, I knew this wasn't reality, just a vast dreamland, a construct of my overactive brain. I hated this place.

No—I feared this place!

Wide-eyed, I followed the crisscrossing chains that tangled between the countless shimmering mirrors. Decades ago as a reckless youth, in my lucid exploration of this contraption, I had discovered that each chain created a vital link between a mirror and the individual gear controlling angle and pitch. The mirrors themselves each held some memory, which in itself seems so very innocent. That was until I began the inevitable game of turning the mirrors at my every whim.

Far too late I learned that the reflections of one mirror's memory could be distorted by another, sometimes exponentially if the angles carried further into the wilderness of relentless iron chains. My meddling had caused so much damage. I had no idea where to begin to restore the truth. Perhaps that was what had frightened me the most.

Willing myself to wake up was useless. That plan never worked. Instead, I carefully shifted through the spaces between the chains, trying not to catch a glimpse of what the mirrors tried to show me. There were so many … so many images cascading into one another. None of which I cared to dwell on! Even though nothing had ever emerged from the mirrors, I had on occasion blundered against the surface and fallen into the memory. There I would be held captive until I awoke, drenched in a cold sweat.

Out of the corner of my eyes I glimpsed the dark and empty attic bedroom where I had been confined for much of my childhood. She had rarely come to see me. Reflected in a companion mirror I saw her, my mother, holding in her hands the white mask I had been taught to put on by myself from a very young age. The disgust in her eyes flared as she looked at me. Her words echoed inside my head as she mouthed them in the image, "You should never have been allowed to live! It was only for my immortal soul that I was forced to raise you, you little beast!"

My steps quickened, racing away from the hell of my youth. I didn't want to see it again. Not the first time I had seen my face! Even now I felt the memory of the shards of glass from the broken mirror I had pummeled in my frantic fear of that sight … not knowing, not understanding that … that thing … was me!

But this savage wilderness had a different twist in mind. Their shouts rent the air, the brutal cries of the villagers of Boscherville screaming out for my blood. I scrambled away from the pane of glass that displayed the grotesque anger twisting their faces as that crowd from long ago seized my young limbs and tried to kill me. Tried to kill _the monster_. I hadn't hurt any of them! I had been held prisoner by my mother in her house. Why did they kill my dog Sasha? Why were they trying to kill me? In the reflection of the past, I watched in horror as the knife of a villager flashed up in the torchlight. At the blistering memory, I doubled over at the pain of the knife puncturing my chest. Blood, blood everywhere! It had born a frenzy in me. The birth of a wild instinct to drive them back, drive them away from Sasha, the only creature who had shown me any semblance of love.

A shiver tore through me. My shirt, drenched, was sticking to my skin. On my hands and knees, I stared dumbly at the filth-caked cobblestones beneath me. Surrendering to the sobs, I couldn't comprehend why the ground beneath me had suddenly changed. The mirrors were gone. There was only the driving rain pounding on my prone body. Reality was but a blur. My right hand drifted up to brush against the old scar between my ribs, the first assault on my flesh by society. It had been a dire warning of what was to comprise my life.

A tentative hand rested on the back of my shoulder. "Erik … put this on. For Allah's sake, what are you doing out here?"

My mask. Nadir stood beside me with my mask. With numbed fingers I reached up and covered my face with it before trying to focus my eyes. We were in the middle of the Bowery. More directly I was kneeling in a vast murky puddle of rainwater in the middle of the Bowery. The storm was raging on, pounding the deserted street.

I must have rushed out here gripped by the crazed dream. The storm, the only thing that prevented a gawking audience to glimpse my naked face. Bowing my head, I heard my own sobs even as Nadir reached down and dragged me out of the mud. "Come on. I have no idea what seized you, but it sure took a lot to bring you out of it."

Staggering at his side, I shut my eyes unwilling to trust them.

Nadir's voice urged me onward. "One step at a time. Erik are you even fully awake?" He paused long enough I should have replied. "Are you alright? Answer me."

By the time we stumbled into our room and he lowered me down into the desk chair, I still had not spoken a single word. Nadir had given up trying. Instead he, coaxed the coals of our stove back to life, brewing up a little tea. Forcing the cup into my hands, he curled my fingers around it, his eyes desperately trying to draw mine to meet his gaze.

Listlessly I lifted the cup, swallowing the weak drink. Haunted, I would get no more sleep this night. And for his pains, neither would Nadir in his quest to pry the truth from me.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Rain was supposed to wash the world clean, renewing it into vibrant glory and yet overnight the only accomplishment of the downpour was to raise the misery within this cesspit of a district we were confined to. The humid air trapped an odor so foul that no language known to me possessed the words to properly express it. Erik however, would likely find those colorful expletives with ease. I pushed my way through the throngs of people, holding my linen scarf over my nose as I fought to keep from retching. The scents of foods from every culture clashed as they drifted from the rickety push carts that lined the street. This alone could be nauseating. But add to it the thousands of unwashed bodies sweating beneath the summer sun, the reek of animal excrement clogging the street, the miasma that drifted out from behind every tenement from the neglected outhouses … my stomach churned, threatening to spill the sparse contents of my meager breakfast.

If that assault was not enough, my ears rang with the anxious cries of every man, woman and child trying to sell their wares. The babble of strange tongues was entirely lost on me. I longed to hear my native Persian, even to see its beautiful sweeping letters. All that my eyes saw was the peeling of faded paint, its once bright colors revealing the dry-rotted wood of this neglected district. A riot of signs cluttered up the windows of the storefronts in every language imaginable—but the ones I understood. This place was nothing but mass confusion as cultures collided in a cacophony of sights and sounds. Somehow, some of these people managed to communicate through obscure gestures. As I limped amongst the throng, trying not to put too much weight on my aching knee, I shivered at the thought of being alone here.

The shrill whistle of the train drowned out the hawking crowd a moment before the monstrosity thundered through on the elevated rails. A shower of rust rained down on me, jagged pieces catching on the rough tweed of my jacket. Well, now I had something to do with my time this afternoon, pick the rust from my jacket so that tomorrow I could rise early to walk down to the day labor lines and stand for hours praying to Allah for a chance to earn a few coins. My shoulders fell. I could count on my hand the number of times I had been chosen from the line.

With a sigh I raised my eyes up the crippled facade of our four story building. Erik had taught me enough of architecture by now that I could see this building had once been a grand residence, in a time when this was a wealthy district. There were a few fine touches to the stonework in the core of the structure. But when the wealth had abandoned it to move north, it had fallen into the hands of harsh landlords who had cut it up into numerous dwellings. It was the fate of everything down here on the Lower East Side, to be cut up and bled for every penny possible.

Of course, on the third story, I couldn't help but notice that the window was still lacking its glass from Erik's prank. My eyes searched for any signs of further meddling, which was a little unlikely. When I had left Erik this morning, he was still at the makeshift desk, his head resting on his folded arms. He wasn't sleeping and I doubted he would for some time. This was hardly the first I had seen him like this. I was well aware that nothing on this earth could unlock his tongue until whatever plagued him passed. That could vary greatly in time span.

Taking the steep staircase one step at a time, I wondered if I would still find him sitting there like a statue. Opening the door, I had my answer. The chair was now empty. Hesitantly I peeked into the ill-lit room, cluttered with what few belongings we had deemed essential. Erik had somehow hidden the remainder of the shipping crates. He told me he had managed to find a cave where people were unlikely to casually look. Knowing Erik, that was probably an abandoned catacomb. A shudder rippled through me at the thought of dead bodies.

A shadow thrown against the wall shifted, he must be by the window. Pulling off my rust flaked jacket, I shut the door behind me. When I looked up my heart stopped in my chest.

I yelled, "You're going to fall!" Nearly all of Erik's body was leaning out the window, his foot wedged underneath a shelf that wouldn't promise to hold the weight of a small child let alone a grown man.

"Relax." His voice drifted in through the open window. He was mildly contorted, reaching up for something. "I almost have it. There we are."

My heart threatened to beat out of my chest as I envisioned the brutal four story fall to the cobblestones below. It terrified me! If I was honest, I would have preferred to be a few stories lower in the building. How Erik could fearlessly lean out into the nothing, relying on little more than a wedge of old wood was beyond belief. I had to remind myself he'd practically lived on scaffolding while working as a master stone mason in Persia and eventually in France. He was not plagued by a fear of heights.

Crawling back inside, he dragged a moderately sized metal pail on the end of a hooked pole. One glance at the contents and he let a half-hearted smile grace what little could be seen of his face beneath the tattered mask. "So it did rain last night. I had thought as much as my shirt was still damp this morning." The shirt in question was of generous cut and draped on his thin frame, the sleeves reaching his wrists. The entire garment was far too bulky in fabric to hang properly. The fit of his clothing was not the saddest revelation. It was the fact that he clearly did not recall running out into the street in a deranged outburst.

Gazing into the sizable cache from the sky, I drew a hand across my forehead. "It's not drinkable with all that soot in it."

Erik slipped the hook from the pail handle with a shrug. "Far quicker to pull soot out of rain water than whatever else is in the well water. Have you smelled that sludge?" Hefting it next to the stove, he reached down and picked up a strange device with twisting tubes and a series of containers. I had seen this thing in the corner but never known its purpose nor had I asked. To my amazement, Erik's dexterous fingers made a few quick adjustments to the crude clamps before placing it directly upon the hottest portion of the stove. Pouring the majority of the water into the large chamber in direct contact with the heat, he set the remainder aside and proceeded to stir up the coal embers in our already sweltering apartment. Following the twists and turns of the contraption I noticed that the final tube spilled out into the small barrel Erik had salvaged to store our water. Is this what he had been doing all this time?

Scratching my head, I asked, "Wouldn't a teapot be easier than all this?"

He stood up, shutting the coal stove door as his eyes glanced quickly over the small pipe he had fit through the wall for ventilation. It was one of the first things he had done when we had moved in during the mid-winter months. He'd refused to light the stove until he completed it. His stone chisels had nipped through the wall accompanied by a constant stream of swearing about human stupidity. Clearly satisfied that things were now properly working, he spared me a glance for the first time since last night's conversation.

Those eyes. Through the mask there was something about that eerie gaze of his. His left eye was a murky brown that, in the darkness he favored, almost appeared without an iris. But his right eye was an ice blue that caught and amplified the light like the pale sapphires I had seen in the shah's jeweled finery. His skin was naturally fair and I wondered where the colors of his eyes had come from. What color had his parent's been? However, he rarely spoke of them. When he did, his words were rather clipped. Drawn into that unbalanced stare, I found I was unable to look away until he did.

He laughed as he picked the pail up off the floor setting it on a rough shelf we occasionally used to prepare food. "Condensation, my dear friend. That is what that little contraption is doing to the rain water I collected. By the time it comes out the other end after all the heat and pressure, it will be clean, devoid of all the particles it carried before. No more filthy soot. Just fresh water."

From a distance, I tried to catch what manner of device he had managed to install outside to collect the water in the first place. But I realized without sticking my head out the window there was no chance of that. My fear of falling dominated my curiosity.

Turning back to face Erik, I watched as he carefully untied the knot of the frayed satin ribbon that held his mask in place. Ignoring me completely, he delicately handled the silk-mache as he set it aside. The masks, of which he had several, were degrading in these conditions. I could understand why in this heat he preferred the silk ones over the leather and yet the latter were weathering much better. Soon, he would have no choice just like the surrender of his tailored suits.

Without the mask, his posture seemed wanting, the marked loss of self-confidence pulling on his head and shoulders. That face beneath the mask … there was no doubt why he concealed the deformity. The skin beneath was thin, clinging to the curves and lines of the skull beneath. The malformation even left him without a nose beyond the bone ridge. His upper lip was twisted in a strange line making his expressions difficult to read. A skull shrouded in flesh ... that was what it looked like in light or shadow.

Every bit of him was coated in soot, the staining only served to make the lack of flesh more pronounced as it deepened the shadows of his sunken eyes. He had always been fastidiously clean, even in the more arid environment of Persia. He displayed an obsession for cleanliness and style. Nothing like the rough shirt he pulled over his head to discard with a careless flick of his hand.

I closed my eyes, trying not to recall the image burned into my mind … but it was too late. It is impossible to ignore something once you knew it existed. Some time ago I had glimpsed the edges but nothing had prepared me for the full sight. Erik's back was almost more difficult to look at than his face. Not a centimeter of his back was left undamaged. These must have been old scars when I had first met him on the cusp of manhood, some thirty years ago. I had been daroga of Mazanderan, in charge of enforcing the shah's law. This meant that I was intimately familiar with the damage of a whip. Erik's scarred tissue showed signs of having stretched long after healing. He had only been a child when someone had repeatedly flayed him. On his lithe frame, that refused to bear much flesh to begin with, the damage was severe. When I had asked him of their origins, his response was so hostile that I fled the cramped apartment in fear for my safety. When I dared, to return I found him brooding in the corner, twisting the blade of his knife into the surface of the drafting table.

I never brought it up again.

The splash of water opened my eyes. Erik was leaning over the pail dipping a wad of cloth into what remained of the rainwater. He took great care to free himself from the soot that had gradually embedded itself into his pale skin. As the water dripped from him, I saw the telltale signs of silver invading his once raven black hair. So, time ravaged him just as any other. He really was human after all. It was a sad perspective he had revealed to me, that he felt utterly removed from the human race. At the time he had muttered it, in my quiet gardens in Persia, I had not gripped the magnitude of his solemn declaration nor how deeply he had believed it. At that time, I was still incredibly naïve about many things.

Tossing the cloth into the pail, Erik headed for the bedroom calling out over his shoulder, "The water is still warm from having been in the sunlight, that was why I waited so long to collect it. Go ahead, wash up."

Rolling my sleeves, I reached down and was surprised to find the temperature rather pleasant. Rubbing the cloth up and down my arms, I watched the color of my skin turning a bit lighter for my efforts. I couldn't resist scrubbing my face clean, letting the water penetrate into my thick graying beard.

When I finished, I turned to find Erik striding back into the room wearing one of the lesser stained masks of white leather and a dryer rough cotton shirt of faded green. His light wool vest attempted to provide a little shape over the hanging folds. The shirt collar hung open without a cravat to tame it. He was now saving the lengths of once fine satin for rare meetings with prospective clients.

As I took a few steps across the floor, I caught Erik's gaze observing my feet before he gestured for me to sit down. "Your knee again. Why did you not mention it?"

"Well … " I tried not to limp over to the desk chair. "You were preparing for the clients. I did not want to bother you."

Erik moved with silent grace. It seemed so damned effortless for him. No longer weighed down by shame, he had resumed that infuriating stance of a man unbound by the laws of the universe. That unyielding dignity, I had learned over time, was his greatest defense mechanism. A facade designed to keep men mystified and cowed rather than dwelling on what lay beneath his mask. He had confided in me one night about his loathing of where society felt _abominations_ like him belonged. Yet, while he maintained the cold and fierce persona, it was fascinating just to watch him when he decided to practice some of the illusions he used to produce as a magician. Right now, I was grateful for another of his skills as I watched him fetch the water pail from the shelf and measure into it the salt crystals from a canister. Soaking the cloth in the solution, he knelt down and put his hands on the aching joint.

"For as much as you complain about me ignoring my health you are far worse," he remarked dryly. "You are not precisely young any longer."

I laughed as he wrapped the cloth around my knee. The warm, Epsom salt water soaked through my thin trousers. "You would indeed believe that compared to the men down in those work lines. Young fit men with skills who speak a more functioning language."

His fingers worked along the soaking cloth as he glared up through the mask. "I taught you French. Have you tried that?"

I nodded slowly, tugging on my beard. "It is on rare occasion I find someone else who speaks it. Rarer is my beloved Persian. It matters not Erik, I have nothing to offer. At least if you were there, you have languages, and skills. They'd select you!"

His fingers stilled. Slowly he stood up before me, that presence triggering in me a wish to escape the mocking gaze. "Oh yes. I am certain they would take one look at my muscular frame and healthy complexion and I daresay I would have my choice of jobs. The mask would not figure into their decision either."

"But … " I fought to string the words together. "Your skills. The languages you can speak, the figures you can do in your head, the ability to carve stone, your clever mind … " To say Erik was a genius was a bit of an understatement. His travels and an innate ambition to conquer every challenge had culminated in a collection of knowledge with the skills to bring his wild imagination to life. Very little seemed to fall beyond the scope of his astonishing mind. What held him back was the unfortunate stigma that accompanied the blight he was born with. Had he not been fettered with the deformity I had no doubt Erik would have been the most celebrated of men. However, so much of his life had been endured in shadows that it tainted his ability to reason. He had what I found to be a rather timorous grasp of reality. His presence was so strong … it was hard to believe deep inside he was a fragile creature unable to keep himself from lashing out at the faintest of threats.

My folly struck me in the image of Erik taking stern directions shouted by a work boss unfamiliar with his temper. Oh what Erik might do to such a man in response. Be it the blade that I knew to be hidden on his person at all times or that lethal length of catgut that formed the Punjab cord, to anger him was to court a gruesome fate.

Holding up my hands, I conceded even before he spoke. "No, you are right. Those lines aren't the place for you."

Rolling his eyes he moved toward the window, glaring bitterly at the street below. Nervously, I noticed his eyes flicked towards the building directly across the street from ours. Thus far Erik had executed an extreme amount of self-control in not destroying that building, something called a _cabinet of curiosities_. I had learned, with no small amount of terror that it was a freak show, a notion that Erik by nature detested. To my astonishment, he had not yet set the building ablaze, perhaps given to the potential of just how far the fire might spread. It showed that he was at least contemplating consequences, something he had failed to do previously.

"They are not for you either." He sighed, leaning heavily against the window frame. "I fear even teaching you to speak the common tongue will not be enough. You were the product of a more lavish world with servants to care for your house. Hard labor was not something that pervaded your days."

I sat up feeling, the twinge in my knee complain under the cloth. "Following you around would be considered hard labor! Do you know how many times I had to run through the palace trying to find where you had gone to?"

Casting me a sidelong glance, he shook his head. "That you consider a little running to be laborious is significant enough."

I was about to protest when Erik's eyes narrowed, stealing my courage.

So, he would not use that talent on the outside world, but his promise apparently did not extend to me. Confound it! It wasn't simply his eyes alone that held the power. His voice was like an instrument. Lyrical and regal, he spoke with an elegant cadence befitting a man of the highest courts. Often it possessed a gentle timber that bent the ear. The range of his tenor could be a luring whisper or a raging tempest if he chose. But if he sang … dear Allah, if he sang the immortal soul wept!

"You were a pampered little sot when I first met you."

"I was not a drunkard!" I managed to bleat out. "It was you who introduced me to whiskey!"

"One can be drunk on more than merely spirits, Daroga." He kept that withering gaze on me, boring into my resolve. "I was speaking of how easily you could be placated by the pleasantries of court life. A pet of that shah whom he felt obliged to abuse in exchange for his table scraps. I knew it the moment you entered my rooms and you informed me the shah had ordered you to 'protect me'. Laughable notion that the shah even considered such a ruse believable! Only a fool would have entertained the idea that a man who practically swooned at the sight of blood would have been capable of providing protection."

"Now see here—"

He cracked a grin, letting his long fingers play with the excess fabric of his shirt. "I am not saying that is accurate now. Life has hardened your soft underbelly. After all you found the fortitude to confront me. I simply mean that when we first met you were a man of meek nature thrust into the enforcer of the shah's law by title alone. To a greater degree, you delivered information and observations to him, a task which does not require much in the way of physical skills." Letting his head rest against the frame he closed his eyes and concluded, "It merely means that which you are most apt to do is not something found in a day labor line."

Sadly, I found his observation to be accurate. "That renders me useless."

"Nonsense. You are so very unassuming." Erik opened his eyes and pushed off from the window frame. "You would make an excellent informant."

"If I could understand what anyone was saying around me!" I protested.

A string of words I assumed to be English left him with a nod.

I felt my eyebrows raise. "What?"

" _Only a matter of time_." He translated the phrase into Persian for me. "Now, it is presumptuous to start with something so long. Shall we begin with something simpler, individual words perhaps?"

"Oh no, let's start with a phrase." I folded my arms offering him a glare. "How about 'can you tell me where the boat back home is?'"

He doubled over with laughter, unable to form any words for a span greater than a minute until at last he found his breath again. "Nadir, my dear friend … but we _are_ home! There is no going back, and it was you who even suggested coming to these shores. Have you changed your mind? Would you prefer your prison cell in Mazanderan?"

I felt the heat rising within me, even though he was right. I could no more return to Persia than he could to his native France. Curling a lip I snapped, "Stop being an ass. Fine … let us start with learning this … English." The moment the word left my lips I knew it had failed to come out right.

"English." Erik slowed it down for me turning to observe the stream of water trickling into the barrel from his contraption. He eyed me, clearly waiting for me to repeat it. I had experienced his exacting tutelage. I prayed to Allah his fickle patience held out long enough for me to learn.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Nadir, I do not know why you refuse to try it outside of the apartment." I remarked dryly while putting the condenser away, trying not to be blinded by the rays of dawning sun cutting through our only window. "It has been weeks since you started to learn English. While you have yet to fully master it, I must say you have an adequate working knowledge of the basics."

He shook his head nibbling on a dried biscuit before he replied in Persian. "I can repeat the phrases I know, but it still takes me too long to find the right words to reply in. I sound like an idiot."

After putting the lid back on the water barrel, I pushed the window fully open trying to get as much of a breeze as possible in the stuffy apartment. That was the problem with how I had to process our water. It added heat to an already stifling living space. On this July morning I had already rolled up the sleeves of my shirt and sweat still dripped from every pore. Casting an eye at the crowded street, I remarked wryly, "You think the majority of them speak fluent English? My friend, very few of them look to have come from England. I would wager a fair amount that by now your handle on the tongue exceeds most of theirs."

"Thank you for that rare vote of confidence." His shoulders rolled into a sag as he shuffled into the ray of sunlight. "But I don't share it."

I spared him a dark glare before discarding my interest in his melancholy. In the past weeks he had still been standing in the lines jostling for the day labor and each time he had been turned away. Since yesterday, he had lingered in the apartment sulking like a beaten dog. I had other things to consider. One thing in particular gnawed away at me. The other day while I was out scrounging for more opium, I had overheard a tantalizing rumor. The northern end of Manhattan was mostly farmland … that was not the rumor in itself. Word was that one of the farmers had a quarry for sale. Since it had been available for some time with little interest and he required money immediately, he was now offering a sizable portion of the farmland with some buildings as well. The price, if I had heard it correctly, was close to the bundle I had tied off. It was perfect, except for one rather unavoidable detail—I lacked the means to get that far north with any due speed. Unless I could see the stone, I would have no way of knowing if the price was fair or not. I had considered renting a carriage but the cost to go that far out of town was more than I could dare on a chance.

"Is that French?" Nadir leaned forward a bit craning his ear.

Snapped out of my thoughts it took me a moment to parse out the voice from the crowd. Indeed, it was French. What a rare sound in the mass of shouted dialects, even if it was a little frantic. Frantic? Searching the crowd for the source, it took me sometime to locate the pleading man. It was a grimy young fellow in a tunic style shirt which was brown now, if it had ever been white. His vest hung open with several horn buttons missing. Unshaven, he wore a scruffy beard and mustache with his long curly hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He stood before a bay colored horse who was throwing a fit in the cart harness. Every time he reached toward the rein the horse snapped and tried to bite him.

Without a word, I darted out our door and down the narrow staircase, hearing Nadir well behind my heels. Out into the street I heard the man shouting frantically, "Stop it! Stop it or I'm going to have to kill you."

"No!" I shouted in French placing a hand firmly on his chest, pushing him out the way. He blinked in shock. Whether it was at my touch or the recognition of the language I did not know, nor did I care. He was not going to destroy this animal. Turning toward the distressed creature, I watched her arc her head back. Wide eyes blazed down at me showing their whites. Her rear hooves kicked at the muck she was standing in.

"Are you mad?" The man leaned back, eyeing the agitated animal from a safe distance. "For Heavens sake, I don't know what she will do!"

The side of the unloaded wagon had some writing I had glimpsed. "Are you Jacques?"

"What?" He stuttered. "Yes, yes … well, Bayard Jacques is my name, Jacques is my family name. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing, but it is convenient to know what to shout to get your attention," I kept my gaze just off to the side of the mare's eyes. I wasn't challenging her gaze, but I couldn't dare look away or her hoof might finish me off. It was prudent to remember she was a powerful cart horse. "Does she have a name?"

"No … why would she have a name?"

"Why ever not?" I bit off the word harshly. But now was not the time. The mare jostled in the cart harness, the wheels shifting and threatening to roll into the crowd. Fortunately some had been wise enough to give the fretting horse space. Slowly I took a few steps forward, my hands at my side. Her nares flared as she screamed out in protest, the champ of her teeth making her warning clear.

"You are a twig of a man! She'll snap you in two!" Jacques declared.

Nadir's accented French interrupted, "Erik knows what he's doing."

"Getting himself killed, that's what!"

Well, if I wanted to do that I would simply reach up and snatch the horse's rein like he had been trying. It would serve me right to get trampled for such a rude gesture. Keeping my voice low and soft, just a melodic whisper, I began to speak to her. "Easy now. Easy. I mean you no harm now. Easy. Just let me see what is wrong."

Gradually, she ceased to thrust her head back, the neck began to lower. Her muzzle came down incrementally as I held my hand out before her, just waiting patiently. The hot breath stirred the hair on my arms. If she lashed out now, I would be crushed under a ton of horse flesh. But her pleading eyes told me she wouldn't, the lids veiling the white just as she placed the end of her nose against the palm of my hand. Breathing slowly with her, I remained perfectly still, once more waiting to feel a bit more of her muscles relax under my vocal coaxing.

"There we are," I sang softly into her twisting ears. She lowered her head down bringing her cheek up against the side of my head. I stroked her neck rhythmically. "Tell me what is wrong with you."

Jacques bleated, "Is he daft? Horses can't speak."

Tangling my fingers in her rough mane, I maintained the same soothing voice as I addressed him. "They do if you know how to listen." She was already telling me volumes. She was a fairly young mare, full grown, but only just. On her stout frame, her muscles were slighter than they should have been. The coat also showed signs of poor nutrition. This body had want of a pasture. As I stood before her listening to her breathing and feeling her heartbeat, I concentrated on every muscle twitch she made as she settled into my embrace. It was an untold number of moments before I felt it. Her weight shifted to her right, accompanied by a sharp tensing of her whole body before she leaned onto her left.

Sliding my hands down her neck I ran them down her front right leg. It wasn't long before my fingers plunged into the white feathering of her fetlock and came out sticky. Taking a closer look, careful not to make things too uncomfortable, I found a small warm lump at the top of her pastern. Clicking my tongue at the discovery I gently lifted the hoof out of the mire, supporting the joint from the front side. Buried in the matted mess, it was plain as day.

"Mud Fever with an abscess forming." I sighed. "Poor creature. No wonder you are in a such a fit. I would be too if I had this much pain with every step."

Jacques approached me hesitantly, wary of the horse that only moments ago had tried to bite him. "What are you talking about?"

Glancing up, I gestured for him to come closer, parting the once white feathering I revealed for him the cracked raw flesh on the underside of her fetlock, my finger outlining the abscess. "Mud Fever is a condition we saw a lot of in the cart horses of the traveling faires, especially in the rainy seasons. The feathering trapped the muck on the roads and even a tiny abrasion could become inflamed. Left long enough without care and the horse would become irritable and lame. This is not the worst I have seen, but severe enough she does not want to put much weight on this leg." Reaching up I patted her shoulder, still keeping the hoof off the ground. "I can handle this, just be patient." She turned her head exhaling a breath into my hair. "Nadir, run up to our apartment. I need a measure of the water from the barrel, the canister of Epsom salts and there should be that old cloak of mine with the large tear in it. That should work for binding."

He balked for a moment. "One of your cloaks? But Erik … "

"Be serious, it is beyond repair and serves a better purpose. Now go, before she gets upset." He dashed off without another remark. I found myself standing in the crowded street holding up a horse's hoof with her owner staring wordlessly at me. "Jacques, tell me, how long have you been in the stabling business?"

The answer was far from immediate as he blinked several times before his mouth began to work. "It was my father's. I have only had it since he died this last winter of a fever." Tears welled in his eyes to be dashed away by his grubby hand. "I tried to pay attention, tried to learn everything but there is so much to owning a stable in the city! The grazing land Father once had is all gone. There is nothing near this end of the city any longer. If I lose the horses to foundering I'll have nothing."

"This is not foundering." I replied casually. "That is an entirely different condition. These streets, and I am assuming the stalls the horses are in are much the reason for the Mud Fever. Their fetlocks need to dry out and there has been a lot of rain of late." Shifting my foot, I listened to the squelch of the sodden debris on the cobble-stoned street. It gave enough voice to the truth without me needing to add my own.

Nadir pushed his way through the crowd with a small bucket of water in one hand and my ragged cloak in the other. "What do you want me to do?"

Producing the knife from beneath my shirt, I nodded to the cloak, "Rip that into some long strips, and stay out of the way. She is probably not going to like me in a moment."

I heard the cloth begin to tear as both Jacques and Nadir went to work. As gently as possible I cut back the feathered hair on her fetlock, exposing the inflamed skin. Swallowing I took in a deep breath and decided I was better off risking a certain tactic rather than get kicked for my pains.

In a low hum, I engaged the rather unique quality of my voice. I let it ring, casting it through ventriloquism into the mare's ear. Her body began to relax even more, enthralled by the effect that overcame the will and made her my pawn. This skill shamefully was not restricted to animals. No, I had mastered it on other human beings to frightening consequences. Now there was little chance she would fight me, little chance she would feel what I was doing to her leg.

Placing the tip of the blade against the abscess, I nicked the skin and immediately pus flowed from within. Scraping the edge of the blade against the raw skin. I freed it of any old scabs holding in moisture and debris. Trapped by my voice, she didn't feel anything as I used a strip of cloth to scrub the area with Epsom salt water. At long last I bound the leg from pastern to well above the fetlock before lowering it and gently releasing her from the cart harness.

"What are you doing?" Jacques protested, "My cart can't stay here."

"You cannot expect her to pull your cart." I patted the bridge of her nose to be rewarded a moment later by her nuzzle. She was standing more evenly now. "She needs to rest that leg, keep it clean and dry as possible. You will have to walk beside her back to your stable. Bring back another horse for the cart."

His eyes darted around the street for a moment before he laid a hand on her shoulder and nodded. "You are right … I am sorry, I was not thinking. Of course she can't haul a load now. If there is ever anything I can do for you in return for saving her from my ignorance. Please, let me know." He took a step, guiding her back the way he had come. "I have to hope no one takes my cart while I take her the few blocks to the stable."

It struck me like a blow from a hammer! Placing a hand on his shoulder, I grinned. "Your cart will be here for you when you return. I ask you this favor, when you return bring another horse with you that I might borrow for the day. I promise I will return it to your stables by nightfall. I have need to get up to the northern end of the island and a horse would be convenient."

He glanced at the building Nadir had come from, our apartment, before looking once more at me dubiously. "They are cart horses. I don't have saddles and riding bridles."

There was no chance to reply before Nadir stepped up beside me and interjected. "He doesn't use those anyway. Erik rides bareback."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

I patted the side of his cart. "If this is here when you return. Young Jacques, I would be most grateful for the use of a horse. You have no idea the magnitude of that favor."

Examining the wrapping on the mare's hoof, he very slowly began to nod. "Alright. If it wasn't for you, I fear I would have had to end her life to stop her from hurting someone. I'll be back shortly."

As he vanished into the crowd with the mare in tow, I tapped Nadir on the shoulder. "Stay here! Keep an eye on the cart. I will be right back."

"Wait … what are you doing?" he cried out even as I dashed away from him.

"Securing the future!"


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I let my fingers caress the stone as I strode along the base of the quarry's shallow walls, their heights rising no more than a meter above my head. Limestone cutting into the top of the hill was the narrow scar left from the farmer's building projects and nothing more. By quick estimation, they had removed enough for a collection of farm buildings and perhaps to line the well I rode past on the dappled gray mare I had borrowed. It was a virtually untapped source of stone crowning a grassy picturesque countryside. In the late morning sun, the lush grasslands rippled in the breeze. In the distance a small untended orchard nestled in the crux of two smaller hills. Two large pole barns in fair condition stood off near fenced pastureland. I swore to the north the glint of a stream of water caught my eye.

That was lovely, but the stone was all that mattered. It was rough, but not brittle. The sedimentation was even from what I could see, leaving to a consistent pattern. Scrutinizing the stone I bent down and peered beneath a jutting shelf, narrowing my eyes into the shadow. Could it be? I reached down and was about to pull out a chisel from the bag of stone mason tools slung across my shoulder when I heard a shuffle of footsteps.

"You asked to see the deed and the boundaries of the acreage." Haverhill held out a few rolls of paper, his weary eyes cast down at the dry stone floor. The poor man was overworked trying to support more than he had bargained for. He had explained to me before going back to his farmhouse to fetch the paperwork how illness had devastated his family. Lacking the essential hands to maintain the family lands, this outcropping was far enough from his home that it was difficult for him to reach and with fewer sons to pass land onto he needed to sell that which was nothing more than a burden to him.

Abandoning my desire to pick at the stone, I feigned only mild interest as I reached out and plucked the documents from his hand. Unrolling the acreage map, I climbed up the embankment and matched the corresponding landmarks. It was true, the plot included a vast pastureland, both pole barns, the well, the orchard with a small forested glade beyond and did indeed stretch to the river bank nestled into the northern wooded boundary. Apparently this was called Spuyten Duyvil Creek, the very body of water that cut off the northern end of Manhattan island. The name nearly caused me to laugh, Dutch for Spouting Devil. There must be quite a story behind that.

This acreage was vast! The slope of the hill I stood on had me pondering how much of a cache of stone I was standing upon. This would be a gamble. There were no quarries available anywhere near the city proper. Getting the stone from this quarry, once it was worked free was a problem, but not an insurmountable one. Glancing over the paper spread between my hands, I spied the mare contentedly grazing on the lush grass. That problem may in fact already be solved.

Rolling up the map, I now looked over the deed thoroughly. My mind hesitated on how much of a gamble this was. The price was close to the bundle concealed in the bottom of the tool bag. The bundle I had fetched from the box in hopes of what I would find. If I was right, I fought my eyes wanting to gaze back at that teasing shadowed ledge—if I was right, this quarry held a bounty to be freed and shaped into monuments of stone.

But if I was wrong … there could be only a small deposit of workable stone and the remainder … dirt. I could never hope to earn that money back. I would lose any chance of my dream. Months. How many months? November of 1881 we had arrived, it was now July of 1882. I could feel the flex of my fingers longing to forge such beauty into these raw stones crying out for the transformation.

Haverhill plodded up behind me and muttered sadly. "Look, I understand if you're not interested. Enough have been here and walked away."

I felt for the man, but he needed to work on his business sense. Perhaps this was why the land had failed to sell. My eyes still looked at the deed. "This price, it includes everything detailed on the acreage, is that correct? It includes the buildings and the river access?"

He glanced over his shoulder toward the north. "Sure does, though if you are thinking of taking stone out that ways you best think otherwise. The current there is full of violent eddies. That was where I lost one buyer."

Ships and barges could sink. Waterways were fickle things that I personally did not trust. There were many ways to shift stone if one had enough ingenuity. The biggest drawback was being this far north. I inhaled deeply … and held my breath. Something was missing—the stench of the rotting inner city! Clean air!

Looking out over the land one more time from the top of the quarry wall, I swallowed deeply. I locked eyes with Haverhill and held out my right hand. "I will take the whole thing for the price you asked. It is more than fair."

The poor man blinked. His hand hovered in the air in disbelief not quite grasping mine. I had to close the distance myself. "You have the money?"

Reaching into my bag, I produced the bundle and tossed it to him without a word. He stared in awe, gently prizing the twine knot before counting the bills. At long last we commenced with the essential signatures and in short time he was on his horse, galloping off over the hills. Tucked into my bag was now the deed to the first plot of land to belong to me in America. The foundation of my empire … so I hoped.

It was time to see if my hunch was correct. Approaching the ledge, I pulled out my mallet and a chisel. Setting the bit against the lip, I gave it a sharp tap and watched a shard slip free to expose more stone beneath. But this stone was not limestone. My eyes widened as they beheld the white sheen of marble! Oh, this wasn't a prized travertine quarry like I had been trained in. In a way it was nearly better. It possessed a moderate quality of limestone that, with the proper designs, could become impressive edifices. Beneath it, precious marble for the wealthier clients. My heart was already pounding as I drove the chisel along the wall, peeling off a sizable window to let the sun blaze on the brilliant marble. The stone screamed at me. It cried out to be shaped.

Chisels leapt into my hands in rotations. Line by line, ridge by ridge the image took shape in the virgin marble. Lost in the patterns of the stone and feeling the raw power of creation, I succumbed to the familiar state of oblivion to the passage of time. It was already evening when my eyes returned to the present to find I had finished polishing the small frieze of Apollo triumphantly surrounded by his muses. It seemed a fitting tribute to the wise stone mason who had taught me how to coax the life from the stones all those years ago in Italy. Reverently, I lifted my eyes to the azure sky and silently offered my thanks, knowing by now where this man must be. Caressing the marble, I nodded my head. He would have been content to see such a fine carving marking the walls of the quarry.

My quarry.

I collected the mare from her grazing. She was reluctant to head south toward the smoggy distant outline. Under my urging, we cut through the fields and at long last trudged into the sucking mud of the Bowery. Steering the mare with my knees, I drew her to a halt just as Jacques came out into the twilight from his sodden stables. What straw there was was damp and mixed with excrement, a condition that was difficult to avoid with fewer places to discard. He had the challenge of about a dozen horses.

"My God," he declared, "you kept your word!"

Leaning over on the horse, I patted her shoulders, offering him a grin. "I am about to do more than that, Bayard Jacques. I told you I would be most grateful for the use of the animal today. That mare from earlier and much of your stable are in need some pasture grazing."

Reaching up, he grasped the rein I had never bothered to use. Dismissively, he replied, "There is no pastureland in the city for them to go to."

"That may be so." I let the paper unroll showing the acreage on it, watching as his eyes widened at the lines on the paper. Tears almost formed in his eyes. "Turns out I am in need of some horses and since I purchased this plot I lack the funds to purchase them outright. However … " Lifting my hand I pointed at one of the pole barns. "Turns out there is this beautiful building which I have nothing to put in currently. Would you look at the broad fields. I do believe this lady here enjoyed her trip up there. What say we discuss an arrangement. Shall we say a mutual trade?"

Jacques was quivering, his eyes still on the drawing. "May I live in that barn?"

Sitting up a little higher on the horse I smiled. This would be easier than I thought.

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

Cuthbert took a sip of my cognac from the Waterford crystal glass—my Waterford crystal glass etched with my initials JCBGV. Swirling it around, he lifted his pinky in that irritating fashion of an attempt to mimic the higher classes. Why Polstern had brought the poser to this elite social in my formal parlor I would never know. Cuthbert only thought he was clever. His remarks lacked any semblance of intelligence. Even now he was carrying on about something with a rude animation about his gestures, not that I was giving him the privilege of my ear. He wasn't even particularly well-to-do, unless one counted his connections with city hall. Something about having an uncle well vested in his seating. It didn't matter much to me, I had those officials I truly needed in my back pocket. What was this little flea bitten mongrel in a fine leather collar to me? People like Cuthbert and Reed did not belong with the social elite at our exclusive gatherings.

Holding up my glass, I had to swirl it twice before hearing the fresh splash of the Courvoisier cognac, the cognac that Napoleon himself drank. With a flick of my fingers, I snapped the servant on the wrist for his laziness, watching as his face contorted from the shock. The welt left behind would remind him to be smart about his duties.

" … And that was how I heard about the Haverhill quarry being sold."

In the high backed chair beside me Shaw laughed quietly, shaking his head as he discarded the ashes from the end of his cigar. "That tiny worthless quarry on the northern tip of nowhere? What fool purchased that?"

Before Cuthbert could speak, I inclined my head toward Shaw. "I take it you also examined the quarry? How many do you own by now; four or five?"

"Six." Shaw offered me an incline of his chin. He waved his hand in the air. The wink of a large diamond caught the lamplight. "Recently I acquired a new source of marble just north of the city. Given the number of projects you have been securing and how often you turn to me for your stone work, I only thought it fitting." He raised his glass with a wink before taking a sip. "The quarry of that Haverhill farmer was nothing but a common deposit of limestone. Everyone who is anyone is after marble these days."

"Must be some young upstart," I replied, sitting taller in my chair. "Thinking he can enter into our coveted society."

Leaning forward in his chair, Cuthbert shrugged. "Signature on the deed filed with the office about a week ago said his name was Erik."

"Erik who?" I quipped with a smile.

The reply was another shrug. What a vulgar diminutive man this Cuthbert was. "That is just it. That's all that was on the deed, it's why I remembered it so much. Four scrawling letters with elaborate curls." He was tracing his finger in the air making a series of spiraling shapes, rather like a child. "E. r. i. k. No other name."

Polstern shook his head before letting a single breath laden with a laugh escape him. "Oh, him. I do believe I have seen a signature of that nature, met an unfortunate man by that very name and no other."

My curiosity got the better of me. Who was this new name trying to build in my city? "Come, my good Polstern, describe this fellow."

"There isn't much to say, really," he remarked dryly. "Apparently he tries to fancy himself a Frenchman. He introduced himself as Monsieur Erik, though when he spoke English to me there was hardly a hint of a French accent about him. That was not the worst about the man. He presented himself in my home in a suit that must have come from the rag-pickers. Imagine the gall of a man to try and pose as upper class, wearing naught but fancy rags and covered in soot. I nearly inquired which train engine he had been shoveling coal into to earn his passage on the rail. But it would have meant being in his presence for the length of his reply."

From his chair, Stapleton adjusted his glasses. For the longest time he had been so quiet I had to wonder if the old man had fallen asleep as he often did this time of day. "Wait a moment." His shaky voice drew all eyes to him. "I think I have had a meeting with that fellow. Wore a mask, didn't he?"

Polstern nodded slowly. "I hardly got past the state of his attire, but yes I did vaguely note that."

"Ah yes, yes. Then it was he." Leaning forward as if to share a secret he whispered out. "Most unusual if the light caught his eyes. Did you see, Polstern? Did you see his eyes? They were two different colors."

Bursting into laughter, I held up my glass. "Impossible Stapleton. People do not have eyes of different colors. You must have been sampling your wines too much, my good man."

He held up a finger, looking straight at me. "I know what I saw in the light of my parlor. He had an eye of darkness and one of washed-out blue. Like he stole an eye from someone else."

The room was utterly silent until Shaw cleared his throat and nervously interjected. "If you met with this—Erik, you must have seen his work. What manner of designs did he present to you?"

Stapleton and Polstern exchanged a glance before they each held a hand up dismissively.

Adjusting the lapel of my smoking jacket, I nodded. "There, you see? Just an upstart, likely some unwashed immigrant trying to pose as something he is not and never will be. He won't get far here."

Not if I had anything to do with it. I had enough competition from legitimate architects here in Manhattan. This was hardly the first foreign trash I would have taken out. A smile played on my lips as I savored the fine imported cognac. Just one more burial ensuring the status quo.


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

Restlessly I paced back and forth across the room for an untold number of times. It had been less than an hour since Nadir had left me alone in our apartment like any other day. Well, any other day for him. For me it was anything but. I only just managed to maintain the false portrayal of indifference while scribbling on the paper at the desk. Inside me the claws ripped and teared with a ferocity of frightening familiarity. As I cradled my head with sweat drenched palms, the pounding of my heart that beat like the relentless ticking of a clock was driving me out of my mind. It was another warm day, but it wasn't **that** warm! This sweat was not born from the heat of the day, but from something far graver.

In the weeks since I had purchased the quarry, I had sought out every minute chance at a contract. For all my efforts presenting the finest drafts I had ever committed to paper since lending alternatives to Garnier for the Paris Opera, I was rewarded with nothing but early dismissals. No contracts. No income. This was no longer a trivial matter. Moments ago I inhaled the last of my opium with no discernible difference to halting the downward spiral. Gulping in air I shut my eyes, this could not be happening. I had to collect myself before Nadir returned. He couldn't see me like this. I couldn't let him see me like this!

 _Here we are again, the old cycle simply repeats. Did you think you could resign me to the old world? Did you think that I would go quietly into the darkness?_

The trembling in my limbs had nothing to do with my addiction. I knew the danger of that voice echoing in the confines of my head. Slow and sinister, a claw tapping out a driving rhythm that seized my heart and slammed it repeatedly against my ribs.

"Silence!" I growled through clenched teeth. "You are not going to be the ruin of me again! Every time I have listened to you nothing but utter destruction has been the result."

The low rumble of his amused laughter filled my head, dashing all ability to think. _Fool, I am the reason you have not been resigned to a grave already. It is because of me you have survived this far. Now, as you pace within this rotting cage you pitifully call your home, starving for food, starving for attention, starving for acceptance—you would subdue me?_

"This is **not** a cage!" I felt my hand tangle in my hair, taking a small comfort in feeling the cord that held my mask in place.

 _Oh, but it is._ He replied in an intense whisper. _The bars of this cage, the shackles that hobble you now, they are simply harder to see for what they are. Why are you trying to be what you are not, Erik? What are you trying to achieve? Admiration? Acceptance? Respect? None of that will be bestowed upon a monster._

My hands gripped the edges of the leather mask, the fingers shaking in the fury of his vile words. "I am not a monster!"

 _Tell that to your victims. Ask yourself why you cannot return to Paris … what would they do to you if you came back. What would they call you?_

"You did all that. It was not me." I declared with a tattered conviction I only partially held. If I went back, oh God … if I went back to Paris, being lynched would be a mercy. More likely I would be thrown in prison to rot away. Beads of sweat dripped ever more rapidly as the thought of being truly confined in a real cage materialized. Beneath me my knees quivered before giving out, dumping me on the floor. Caught in a fight to collect my ragged breathing. Every beat of my heart was like a cannon exploding.

The sharp rap against the floor from below startled me. Someone ramming something against the ceiling below—the harlot's enraged voice carried through the fog to my struggling consciousness. "Damn it, you Freak! You complain about me? I'm trying to sleep down here! Stop making all that noise!"

 _Aww, you hear that Freak?_ Once more he laughed. _Poor Erik. You longed for such beauty and all the world ever does is piss on your dreams. They will never permit a creature like you to dwell amongst them. Do you know why? Have you ever asked why?_

"Stop," I panted through my dry throat. "Please just go away and leave me alone."

 _Alone?_ The laughter crescendoed painfully, leaving me wincing with my forehead against the floor. _You have never in all your days been alone! That is the ultimate irony of your existence. You pine about being alone and yet I have ever been your companion. Come now, you're making a spectacle of yourself lying on the floor like that. Get up. You know what you have to do. You have resorted to it so often in the past. They deserve it._

I shook my head, fighting my limbs even as they pushed up off the floor. I wanted to stay there where I could not harm anyone! I did not desire to let this whispering con me into another empty promise. "No. I promised Nadir I would not resort to thievery. No more legerdemain. No more killing."

 _Words. What are promises? Why should you keep them? How many has the world kept to you?_ There was a long silence before he finished. _Only one … that your presence will be loathed no matter where you go, no matter what you manage to achieve. It will never be enough for them to see you as an equal because that is human nature and to them you will_ _ **never**_ _be fully human._

I staggered over to the metal box I had pulled from the wall earlier. A few coins rattling in the bottom were all that remained. This was all we had to keep the roof above our heads, to buy food, to survive. More opium, I needed more opium to quell this horrid voice's murmuring inside my head before he drove me once more to madness. Frantically I shut the box and rammed it back inside the wall with its precious cargo of coins. I could not possibly go out and spend our last on my addiction. Not without a way to earn more.

 _What will you do?_ He muttered with boredom.

Snatching the open collar of my shirt, I tried to pull the faded green fabric over my head in a childish attempt to silence the voice. If the dregs of the opium had failed, what else stood a chance?

My eyes caught the gleam of sunlight off well oiled wood.

Salvation!

Yanking my shirt and vest back down, I dashed across the room, hands clawing for the Stradivarius lying in her open case. There **was** one thing that could drown out this asinine pestering. As swiftly as my fingers could, I tuned her strings while commencing a mad dash down the flights of stairs. The feeling of confinement, those tight walls of the two small rooms that comprised our apartment, would not release me from the torment. I had to get out into the open, away from this dismal tenement. It did not matter where!

Throwing the door wide open, I felt it collide against a body. In my haste I couldn't spare a glance. The welling panic of hearing that insidious voice echoing again drove my steps north on the Bowery. Not even waiting to reach the end of the block, I placed the bow to the strings and felt my fingers flying on some obscure piece of music. It did not matter to me what I played as long as it was a furiously driving auditory assault, sufficient enough to drown that little demon back into oblivion! Beneath my fingers the strings vibrated, her usually fine voice screeching in protest under the tension I was thrusting through her.

I'm so sorry, I apologized to her. But I need to do this. You have to help me through this then I promise to be gentle again. Help me be gentle again!

Blindly, I fled through the streets, the wild music thrown from the violin clutched in my hands. The tension in my fingers against the strings was enough to threaten to snap my thin bones. Still I played onwards with an all-consuming passion, drowning in the current as I fought to banish the images that threatened my sanity. If I stopped, if I hesitated even for the briefest pause, I knew I would lose and this city would learn of what I had once been. At all costs I had to stop that devil from his influence over me. With every beat of my heart I longed to create, I did not wish to gaze down at my hands to discover them drenched in blood once more.

In my flight, I was heedless of where my feet would carry me. Serving as a vessel of music was the entirety of my focus, my only hope at salvation from the darkness. Dimly I was aware that if my path carried me into a collision course with a carriage it would be the end of that monstrosity within me. _He_ would forever be removed from harming the world through me. That was not my goal, but if it should happen … who would mourn me?

The path of my bow slowed, the pattern of the music altered by my roiling emotions. Who would mourn me?

Nadir.

If I died, what would happen to him? He did not deserve to be trapped in the cruel neglect of society. And all for an act of profound kindness.

My fingers relinquished the torrential frenzy as they settled into the somber strains of the opening act of _Faust_. How many times had I witnessed Gounod's setting on the great stage of the Paris Opera. How I had always felt for the poor aged scholar as he grappled with the revelation of his sacrifice in life … the voice of Mephistopheles, what an irresistible lure in his predicament. There was nothing left to my imagination for that experience, not with **my** life. The mournful tones pleading for release as he raised the glass of poison surrounded me now … a cry from my very heart, only for the strength to resist that treacherous lure.

I would not commence that road to hell once more. Speak no more to me, Mephistopheles. Your once servant already tasted the bitter poison of your honeyed promise and somehow, still survived your betrayal. I will not make that mistake again no matter how much you rail.

My fury burned away, the tide stripping away everything, even my will to stand as I drew the bow for the final time across the strings. With my eyes clenched tight, I felt my knees sink into something soft … the scent of grass invaded my senses. My right hand caught my weight on the cobble-stones. Still clutching the bow tight, it took every bit of coordination I had remaining to hold the violin tucked safely to my body, preventing it from striking the ground. Sheets of sweat drenched me as I leaned heavily on my right arm, heaving air like a blacksmith's bellows. It wasn't a sense of peace … no, I was left hollow, empty, numb. There was a world around me, but I still had yet to re-emerge from the one the music had sent me to.

 _Ting._

Slowly my eyes opened to the blinding glint of light reflected on metal directly in front of me. It took the span of several breaths for my eyes to even focus enough to tell what it was. A coin. A nickel. Tentatively, my fingers left the bow on the ground, groping clumsily toward the small circle sitting slightly cocked across two stones. The nickel was warm, released from the tight grip of my raw fingertips it rolled down into the palm of my hand and shined up at me.

Clapping. The sound of gloved hands softly clapping drew my eyes from the small coin nestled in my bare palm. An arms length away, two black buttoned boots caught my wandering gaze. They were polished, of fine leather without a speck of dirt upon them. Gradually I was able to wrest enough control over myself to look up into the smiling face of a young girl bedecked in a lace frilled dress tied with satin ribbons of pale blue. She wore a wide brimmed straw hat with a matching ribbon caught by the breeze. Her head nodded with glee as she folded her white gloved hands before her, twisting her foot upon the ground as she watched me.

"For you, mister musician. You played very well and I enjoyed listening." Every word was precise for a child of her assumed age. I was no expert but I would have guessed she was around seven.

I tried to form a reply, but all that managed to happen was a spasm of movement from my jaw, slack and useless. My eyes once more fell to the coin in my hand. This little piece of metal … it could buy food for tonight. A piece of fish, some form of meat. Bread for a few days … enough of these little coins and I could get more … opium.

"I am proud of you." This voice was older, I glanced up again to find what must have been the child's governess placing a hand upon her shoulder. "Charity is such a wonderful thing. Your parents will be thrilled to hear about this at dinner."

The child blushed and turned back to me. "It was a pleasure." She executed a little curtsy looking at me expectantly.

Dumbstruck, leaning on my arm, I was trembling trying to find the words to reply and ever locked in silence.

Gently taking the girl's hand, the governess drew her away without a backward glance. "He may not have been intending to be rude, my dear. These kind of people come from many different lands and not everyone has the benefit of a good education. He may not have understood what you said to him."

My breath locked in my chest as I fell backwards, crumpling into a silent heap in the grass. The weight of the coin still grasped in my hand as I just fought to keep myself from screaming like a lunatic. I was not some simpleton! I would have understood what she had said in any number of languages! Hugging my violin to me, I pushed back the tears, managing enough control to just sit there in silence.

There in my hands, clutched to my chest, was a road I could take. The humble coin burning against the palm of my hand, bathed in my sweat, promised more companions. Could I do it? Would I do it? In the silence that followed, I found myself searching the void, dreading that insidious whisper. No, I would not give in. I had to smoke the opium to lay him to rest. The music helped. I had just proven that. She, this beautiful instrument of mine, companion for most of my life, would help me and would revel in letting her own voice captivate this world. I was ashamed at the thought of performing again, but this time … this time it was not the faires with a hawker bestowing some ridiculous moniker on me with a demand to unmask myself for some vulgar crowd. This time it would not be my voice—only hers. Only her sweet song captivating the world.

It was a compromise. If it fed us and kept that beast at bay I would take the sacrifice.

Rising shakily to my feet, I glanced around for the first time with the realization that to get back home I had to know where I had ended up. A sign designated the green space, Tompkins Square Park. I somehow had safely managed to wander north and east of the Bowery's ward. No small amount of luck had kept me from getting crushed as I had dashed about, blinded by my furious flight.

Bowing my head, I trudged homeward my eyes fixed upon the glimmer off the coin nestled in my hand. _No matter what you do, you will never be seen as their equal._ More than one voice had made that fateful declaration to me. On the morrow, I would have to take my chances that this time I could control the outcome better.


	9. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Well, wish me luck … like it ever helps," Nadir sighed. The sound of his boots scraped the floor unevenly as he approached the door. The slosh of his whiskey bottle as he drank his breakfast filled the room briefly before he set the bottle on a shelf. If there had been a chance he would have been selected, it was gone now with the scent of liquor lingering on his breath.

I only made a short noncommittal noise while dragging the quill pointlessly across a draft I had long ago ruined.

The moment the door clicked shut, I dropped the quill and sprang to the window to watch the street. After the short delay, he materialized in the crowd heading south toward the dock yards. Seizing my violin and bow, I ran for the door, flinging a light hooded cloak over my shoulders as I dropped down the stairs two at a time. Heading north, my mind began to race through the vast collection of pieces I had committed to memory trying to select what I might play. The streets of the Bowery were once again crowded with of immigrants from nearly every culture I had experienced throughout my travels in Europe and Asia. The bazaar like atmosphere of the street screamed for a low-brow piece that had been common-place among the old world faires. The few times I had dared to roam through the market, trying to resist the urge to throttle the dime museum hawkers advertising their 'human oddities', my ears had undergone the onslaught of raucous music from the numerous vaudeville theaters. Some lewd folk-song would indeed be well suited to this crowd. Pulling the hood of the cloak a little lower to shade the mask in the bright morning sunshine, I stood by the curb tuning the strings of my beloved Stradivarius.

Yes, they would be expecting some folk-song. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath fighting the roil within my gut as the memories of the old faires flooded back. It took a great force of will to stop my hand from shaking as I placed the bow to the strings and held it there, an automaton waiting to be triggered.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't lower myself to insulting her like this. She was the work of a master. She deserved to throw her voice in a grand concert hall, not be subjected to fiddling in the gutter. Taking a few more breaths, I felt that little twinge in my muscles, the reminder that the clock was ticking and I had to somehow replenish my supply of opium by at least one dose by tomorrow or pay the dire consequences. Even with my eyes closed I could feel the presence of a crowd growing around me. Swallowing my pride, I drew the bow across the strings, letting the first long chord drift into the air.

Vivaldi's masterpiece, _L'Estate_ , the movement known as summer from _Le Quattro Stagioni_ drifted into the air in stark contrast to the destitute surroundings. The sounds of the world vanished as the languid notes from the violin carried me away from reality, setting my consciousness adrift in the sea of beauty. Wandering through the allegro, I was captivated by each and every chord letting them soar into the air and linger there. Measure and tempo, sheer movement driven by emotion and feeling overruling some rigid count.

By design, each of Vivaldi's four seasons had three sub-movements providing a different aspect of nature's variable conditions. When I launched into the second section of summer, my solitude was broken. Subtle notes intruded … accompanying the voice of my Stradivarius. Was that … it was! Someone was playing the second violin part in perfect time to the first line I was playing. Slowly my eyes cracked open, glancing above the heads of the crowd, searching for the source. Turning my head I realized there was a fair distance between myself and this intruder.

Cautiously, still maintaining a modest tempo, I launched into the third portion and heard the other violin swept up in the current as the piece intensified. Drifting northward, I eased my way through the crowd, crossing to the east side of the Bowery. The melodic voice of the strings called to me, luring me as the harmonies wove seamlessly together. The volume grew as I moved toward the support pillar for the elevated train, the other violin's voice reaching out through the crowd that surrounded it. Before me, the crowd parted as I approached revealing the violinist sitting on the ground with his head bowed over the hand polished violin. His calloused hands sawed away vigorously at the harmony that had drawn me into his presence. The classical music, so out of place in the Bowery, poured forth from the instruments in our hands with practiced ease and perfection. We two could have been seated within an orchestra. I was astonished at the man's skill. What was he doing here sitting in the filth of the Bowery? A moment later, my bow nearly slipped from my hand in the final notes of the piece as I realized the folly of my internal inquiry.

The crowd exploded into applause. Coins rained down, clinking against the cobblestones between us. All I could do was blink, holding my violin limply at my side. His head remained bowed. Dressed in a patched tunic and a dark brown vest tied with a wide sash, his filthy boots rested against a long stick. Gray hair hung unwashed over the collar of his shirt and a long gray beard twisted in loose natural curls. His darker complexion did not appear to be entirely from the filthy tenement conditions.

Silence pervaded for what seemed like an eternity as I peered down rather rudely from the beneath the cover of my hooded cloak. I failed to find the words to greet this unusual man.

"Good morning to you." His voice was a rich bass, the dialect instantly apparent to me.

Clearing my throat I replied in fluent Romanian and offered him a half bow, even though he was not looking up. "A fine morning it is." The coins still littered the ground at our feet. He made no effort to collect them. In the awkward silence, I felt as though he was waiting for some gesture, some further remark from me. Glancing at my violin and then to his own, I lifted my chin. "That is an excellent violin you have. Pray tell who is the maker?"

His fingers gave the neck a lover's caress. "She is not of the make of your fine companion. I would know the Stradivari voice from a single chord and I could tell from the beginning whose hands crafted yours. This fine lady here was crafted of more humble origins. By the work of my own hands."

Beneath my mask, I felt my eyebrows rise slightly. "Your hands? That is most impressive. Her voice has a rich quality. The deep walnut hue of her grain simply glows in the sunlight."

"Wonderful to hear how she appears." He smiled, lifting his head for the first time. When he opened his eyelids, they revealed milky eyes staring vaguely up in my direction. I held my breath for the briefest moment as my gaze took in the pockmarked scarring around his eyes, signs of having healed some time ago. A soft laugh left him as he leaned back against the rusting iron. "What I would not give to see her again. In the end it hardly matters. My fingers remember where they need to be to play. So long as I can play, I can still live."

I nodded even as it sunk in he could not see the gesture. Bending down, my fingers began to collect the coins, tossing them into a small pile at his feet. "I was always amused to see the musicians who could not play without seeing the notes scrawled before them." Flicking a nickel with a clink I watched his fingers groping in the space around him as he engaged in the task with a surprising amount of dexterity. Well, he was a violinist after all. "Any fool can count. A true musician experiences the music."

He paused, fixing me with his blind eyes, a curious smile on his face. "True musicians feel what the composer wrote between the lines of music. They bask in the current that drives the heart of the world. They are not reading the notes of Vivaldi's summer but standing within the landscape smelling the flowering trees beside the winding brook under the bright rays of the sunshine. They can bring that to life for the listener."

A penny walked across my knuckles as I idly let it roll between my fingers. "The notes are like words, how they are constructed into the chords and played gives them their true meaning, their context."

Gripping his bow, the smile grew ever brighter at my reply. "So, will you play with ol' Blanjini again? My lady tells me she wishes to sing with yours again."

The name he gave, how interesting. I knew it to be a creature of Romanian mythology and thus not likely his real name. Rising to my full height, I flicked the bow into my right hand, replying smoothly. "My lady would be only too glad to oblige. She has known so few worthy companions to sing with." Her last … no not now. I could not bear to think of _her_ now. Swallowing deeply I requested, "What would your lady feel so compelled to sing?"

Blanjini danced his fingers across the neck of the violin as he thought. "Oh, she whispers, how she whispers. Mozart she tells me … she asks me to ask your Stradivari if she knows this one … " And he drew the bow across the strings, sinking into Mozart's violin concerto number three. His eyes closed and he leaned forward. Freed from leaning against the rusted iron, he began to sway.

Within a measure, I let her full throat join in, dancing and entwining. My eyes drifted shut and locked in the sweet movements of the concerto we played. The violins lead each other on a merry chase, trading the lead without a word or gesture. Listening intently, I could hear his musical nod when he was about to switch to the lead violin and his slight bow when he intended to hand it to my sweet Stradivarius. The piece was a glorious romp that comprised close to a half hour.

When we reached the ending, another round of vigorous clapping accompanied by a shower of coins snapped me out of my musical reverie. It was instinct more than manners that carried me into offering a low bow. The hood of my cloak fell back as I rose. Hastily I went to grasp it. My hand was stilled by Blanjini's remark.

"You have a wonderfully delicate touch on her strings, Nightingale."

Pensively I cocked my head. "Nightingale? It is but late morning."

He shrugged, flicking his bow up lightly. "A man who observes no light it is always night. Tis not why I addressed you as such. Tell me why you weep in song, Philomela."

There was far more to this man than first appeared! Stalk still, I pondered the obscure Greek reference for a long moment. Philomela, from Ovid's _Metamorphoses,_ the poor bedeviled character who was so betrayed in life, her only escape was to be transformed into a nightingale, whose song was forever laden with sorrow and ravaged love. I knew how deeply I tended to lose myself in music … how much more was I letting escape? Taking a few steps towards the iron support, I set my back against it, squatting down beside the Romanian. Just above the sound of the bustling crowd I sighed, "There is no simple answer to that, Blanjini."

The blare of the train whistle precluded the rumble of the train. For the interlude we simply remained side by side, feeling the iron shaking under the weight of the train. Rust rained down upon us. In the deafening quiet that followed, Blanjini flicked his bow tip into the air lazily. "Life."

"What?"

He shrugged, flicking the bow again. "That is the simple answer, Nightingale. Life is why you weep in song when you play. The sorrow is full throated. Rich and tangible. It is not the childish throws of one pretending to the lengths of melodrama. It is the song of one who has witnessed joy, tasted it only fleetingly, and believes that to have been his last." Turning his ear to me as one would turn a sight-filled gaze, he tucked his chin. "It is the song of one who mourns his own death."

My lungs burned, reminding me I had forgotten to continue to breathe. Inhaling a rushed gasp I shook my head, fighting with the eerie feeling that this blind man was seeing far too much! "Well … surely you have known sorrow." I tried to change the focus not wanting to dig into my life with a complete stranger. "To have lost your eyesight … "

" … is nothing compared to losing one's dignity," he concluded turning his milky eyes directly on me. "Oh Nightingale, even blind, I can see it."

Unable to take his penetrating gaze, I was forced to look away. I sought refuge in the beautiful aged wood of my violin. The strings, silent before me, called out in their own way to my fingers. Wordlessly I lifted her and tucked her under my chin. The bow settled onto the strings as my fingers composed a tune entirely unbidden. The song carried out into the Bowery, a languid melody drifting through the crowd. I forced my eyes to remain open watching as the music penetrated the consciousness … people's gazes drew distant and dreamy. Tears glistened in their eyes threatening to fall. They did not turn to see me. They seemed unaware of where this feeling was coming from … this feeling longing.

A second melody wove around mine, gradually building and toying softly. Each part was overflowing with emotion. Raw and unpolished, they were two strands of pure longing. Blanjini's serene expression as he caressed his melody from the violin betrayed a deep pain, an anguish that my heart echoed in the song my Stradivarius sang. I sensed there were different sources for our sorrow but we both knew the bitterness that life could offer. We both knew what it was to be as out of place as our music was to this Bowery.

Yet … as I withdrew the bow from the strings and gazed upon the coins before us, there was the irony. Beside me sat a clearly educated man with all the talent to play in the finest of music halls. The wealthy scowled upon the immigrant, claiming him uneducated and filthy. With new eyes I gazed about the tenement dwellers and for the first time wondered how many more were like Blanjini … my head hung as it struck me more deeply. How many were like me? I wasn't _becoming_ one of the Bowery tenement dwellers, I was as so many others—a Bowery victim.

"What do you see?" Blanjini whispered up to me. "Your breathing has changed."

Mastering myself, I quelled the slight shudder that had infected me. "Narcissus briefly had a companion in me. And I very nearly drown myself in a different fashion. I have been so blind." Catching myself, I rested a hand upon his. "My apologies on that unfortunate turn of phrase."

He chuckled. "At least your vision has been restored. Some men never even realize they are senseless. I would say that is most of the human race."

I could not help but give a full throated laugh at his blunt remark. "Tell me, Blanjini, do you do this often?"

"What? Sit on the street corner and discuss Greek mythology with strange violinists? Or come and play for the clink of a coin?"

"Both, I suppose."

Tapping his feet on the walking stick, he shrugged. "What else is there to fill a blind man's day? In truth, I linger here every day for the strings are all my fingers can remember how to do without my vision. It is my love, and my life now … there is not a choice." His fingers rested on my shoulder. "I would be grateful for the company. Without counting I can tell that the number of larger coins falling has more than doubled since you arrived. And it is comforting to hear my native tongue spoken."

Before he could even begin to ask about my past, I drew the bow across the strings. "It seems she wishes to sing again. Shall we?"

He nodded, tucking his own violin beneath his chin. Once more lost in the music, we soared above the world that bound us, freed from life's shackles if only for the duration of a song.


	10. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Here. A little gesture of my appreciation for yesterday." I tossed a fresh apple into Blanjini's open hand. His fingers wrapped around the fruit even as his blind eyes widened in welcome surprise. He was already seated in front of the same iron pillar as the day before when I had first found him. Leaning my shoulder against the rusted metal, I bit into my apple letting the sweet juice run down my throat. After swallowing, I added. "I have to admit it was pleasant having enough coins to make a selection from the carts for once."

Savoring the fresh fruit, sucking the juices from his fingers first, Blanjini took a long time to reply. "Beggars so rarely get the chance to indulge."

"Nonsense." I scoffed, adding the apple core to the already rubbish strewn street. Quickly drying my fingers on the edge of my cloak, I tucked the violin under my chin and played a brisk series of notes. "Indulging oneself comes in so very many forms."

His answer came swiftly in a series of notes from his own violin. "Nightingale, I had hoped you would return."

"I promised, did I not?" The street was nearly shoulder to shoulder with people, promising to be a good day if we could but bend their ears. "So, what is on the concert program for today, Blanjini?"

With a laugh he let his fingers drift through some chords, warming up in the slight chill of the August morning. "If there is indeed a program, my dear friend, you shall have to be the one to read it."

A twinge of guilt tugged at me as I realized the cruel tease of my words. All I could do to make up for my unintentional slip would be to help draw the largest crowds possible. I allowed a slow smile as I let the bow pull out a few tell tale notes. "My, do my eyes but deceive me? It appears to be a day for royalty. Is that the Tzar?"

A wistfulness shadowed his features as tears began to well in his useless eyes a moment before I shut my own eyes to the chords of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto in D. The piece was absolutely exhilarating to play, challenging enough to require reserves of concentration even for me. The place for this piece was an imperial palace, the audience … the royal family. For the way Blanjini fell into the music, I now was privy to at least part of his story. Many talented Romanian musicians were called upon and honored with the chance to perform in the courts of Imperial Russia. The strings in his hands sang of that golden experience with such exquisite richness that nothing short of having played for the Tzar himself could have produced that sound. As the piece progressed, I heard the source change in height. I knew he was now standing beside me caressing the strings as a lover. His violin sang for him, gloriously and triumphantly as he reprized the performance.

Driving through the finale, I watched as he dashed his bow against the strings in the final chord before executing a low bow at the waist. Tears traveled down his straggling beard as he righted himself to the applause and the clinking of coins tossed at out feet.

Breathless, he wiped the tears.

"It must have been quite a performance for the Tzar those many years ago." Gently turning the peg on my violin, I made a minute adjustment essential after such a vigorous performance.

"Not so very many years ago." The color flushed on his cheeks. "How … how did you know?"

"I am no stranger to the Russian landscapes, Blanjini. Nor am I a stranger to the rumors of the habits of the Imperial Court. A Romanian musician of your talent would have attracted attention. Few are capable of playing that concerto from memory."

"It was the talk of the whole village." He swallowed, lowering himself back down to the ground with practiced ease. Joining him, I cocked an ear hoping he would continue. "Indeed, I was requested to come and play for the Tzar and his court. More than once. The palace was so beautiful. Like nothing I had seen in all of Romania. Who was I but a humble violinist. After the invitation, the first one, I was no longer unknown." He smiled and for a moment I thought he might utter his name. A shudder racked him, the joy faded as swiftly as it had come. "That was before things changed in the villages. Where once we had been safe and welcome … where once we had made our homes … we were ordered to leave. Leave or be killed. As long as I could I held out, keeping my practices silent. But nothing can remain a secret forever. Like the others, I was forced to leave all because of how I worshiped."

I had guessed as much about Blanjini's heritage, a Jew rousted from his home during a time span when those in power were unsympathetic. He wasn't alone in having sought refuge here.

Hanging his head, he continued with a slight tremble to his voice. "There was little I could do, this ward being the only one I could find a roof in."

With an empathetic laugh, I affirmed, "A fact that still remains for many."

"Living was so very hard I had to make a choice. Music had to wait. So my blessed companion sat safe within her case while each day I worked in the factory. I had my dreams of earning enough to move out of the Bowery. To move up in the neighborhoods of the concert halls … " His voice dropped as he sighed. "That was until the day my world grew dark. My eyes burned in an accident. Unable to see any longer, they would not let me return to the factory where it had happened. No one else would hire a blind man. What could I do?" Embracing the violin, a soft smile once more played on his face. "Then, I remembered I had abandoned her. My fingers remembered how to make her sing. They had no need of vision to bring forth the vivid images of music. So I played. Here on these streets I have played through the seasons once and again for whatever coin those who will listen offer me. Each time it feels just like … just like standing in that court under the admiring gaze of the Tzar of all of Russia. For those blessed moments of my day, I am not the exile from Romania, no … I am brought back to that time when I played my heart and soul out as an honored guest in the bright shining halls of the Imperial Palace. There is nothing that can take that memory from me. The memory that sustains me even now in my eternal darkness."

My hand drifted to the neck of his violin, the bare skin of our fingers touching for the briefest moment. "We see through the music the images of the heart." … my beloved Paris Opera.

"Thank you, Nightingale." He bowed his head, his voice breaking with emotion. "Thank you for playing my memory."

Respectfully, I remained silent as he collected himself. There were hours yet to play before I must return home in time to conceal my secret activity from Nadir.

 _ **~Erik~**_

Inhaling the sweet dragon's breath I leaned back in the chair, letting the wash through my body quell the faint muscle tremors that had built in the later portion of my time spent with Blanjini. The opium I had managed to purchase prior to returning home was not of the best quality, nor from the best source. Weak, but it would do for now to satiate my dependency on the drug. The price had allowed me to purchase the ingredients for something of a more hearty stew that was currently simmering on the coal stove.

Watching the puffs of smoke rising lazily as I exhaled, the clenching anxiety released within me leaving behind a familiar numbness. This opium lacked the ability to produce the euphoria to the extent that I desired. And yet, it was a comfort to know I would be spared the humility of succumbing to laughing fits. Distantly, I heard the door open and shut. Nadir shuffled in pausing in the door frame as he inhaled.

"Do I smell … can that be?" He stared at the steam rising from the pot, his eyes widening. "Beef stew?"

Letting the smoke drift out, I studied the rolling puffs as they drifted before replying. "Yes."

Crossing the room he peered into the pot. "Is it edible?"

"I am surprised at you." I raised an eyebrow, unseen beneath my mask. "You know I can cook. I would have had to in my solitude beneath the Paris Opera or I should have starved to death. Just to name one part of my life where I was self-reliant."

"Indeed. You just so rarely do so that I figured you never would." He turned slowly, suspicion in his eyes as he spied the pipe in my hands. Days ago he had known I was running out. "The question isn't so much that you **are** … the question is **where** you got the ingredients."

Studying my fingers with idle interest, my fogged brain tried to formulate a reply. A reply that never fully formed.

"Erik." He stood before me now. I had not heard him approach and it was only by sheer luck that I did not startle at that realization. This opium may not have had the euphoria, but it was particularly relaxing, too relaxing. Folding his arms over his chest, he eyed me.

"What?" Unable to help it, I heard a little slur invade my speech.

"You told me you detest walking through the Bowery's market. How did you get this?"

"Get what?" I offered a little flash of a smile, at least I hoped it read as one.

A moment later he threw his hands in the air and shouted in English, "You bastard! You're stealing."

That stunned me. I felt the slow blink as I thought through the lessons I had given the aged Persian. "Clearly you have been learning some new words. I know I did not teach you that one. Nor is that accurate."

He glared down at me. "It is an insult, is it not?"

Nodding, I took another rather long draw off the pipe before replying. "Oh indeed it is an insult. However it implies that one is uncertain of his parentage. While I admittedly had never met my father due to his premature death, he was undoubtedly my mother's husband. By definition, I am no bastard." Holding up a hand I added, "Nor am I a thief—this time."

Blushing at his error, he flashed a glance at the bubbling pot before fixing me again with those piercing jade eyes. "Then what other means supplied this? You have not had a meeting with client in some time now!"

With a grin I made him wait for another long inhalation before I replied slowly. "You might be surprised where it came from, you suspicious old goat. But I think I will refrain from telling you."

"Why?"

"Because it is far too amusing to watch you fret and squirm, pondering the worst." Speaking around the pipe, I leaned back all the way, the delicate balance of the chair threatening to deposit me unceremoniously on the floor. "I made you a promise and I have kept it. That is all that need concern you."

Shutting my eyes to dismiss the affair, I heard him sigh as he shuffled across the floor. He paused right where I knew he would. The rumble of a bottle being lifted from the shelf ... the scrape of the cap twisting against the glass before the breathless gasps that accompanied the rushed swallowing.

Peaking open one eye, I chuckled. "You are welcome for the whiskey."

He made no reply, even after his thirst was slacked.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

Some things, no matter how one tries, cannot be escaped. To my chagrin, before the first week passed in my series of duets with the Romanian violinist, I became aware of a curious moniker whispered among the crowd. True, I had done everything possible to ensure I never uttered my real name. So it was foolish to expect that I would remain anonymous, an unnamed violinist. Without my will, I had been dubbed the Bowery Nightingale. When I had curiously inquired to Blanjini, who to my knowledge only spoke Romanian with a liberal smattering of Yiddish, how his address to me had spread with all the rapidity of a theatrical scandal, the old man merely shrugged. Then he revealed that there were many multilingual Romanians living in the Bowery, folk who had come on a regular basis to eagerly hear of what would emerge from our violins.

It was a concession I had to permit for by now, the only way to dissolve what they called me would be to give them the truth. My pride would never permit me to tell them my name. Day after day, gazing at the old man beside me, it became apparent why he called himself Blanjini and I feared he would never trust me with who he really had been … a man he seemed to accept he could never be again.

Weeks passed in the same fashion. Nadir would wander off to the work lines and I would dash down to join Blanjini for hours of playing music fit for the grandest halls—opera accompaniments, concertos, the violin parts from great symphonies. We improvised off one another, learning the nuances until our ladies danced in perfect harmony regardless of whether it was Bach or Gounod. Word traveled, drawing crowds to the north end of the Bowery where the strangest spectacle awaited their ears. Music that prior to Blanjini and the Bowery Nightingale could only be heard for the price of a concert ticket—well beyond the meager earnings of the tenement dwellers. Between pieces we recited and analyzed the classic works we both had devoured in a more blessed time. He had been as much an avid reader as I. Shakespeare's poetic lines echoed beneath the rumble of the train, the Greek tragedies played out scene by scene as we paralleled them to the state of the world we left behind and the state of world around us now. Each day as I realized Nadir would be trudging homeward eager to sink into his bottle, I felt a leaden weight in my heart leaving Blanjini there. The weight of my cut of the coins was rewarding, but it was far from the primary reason I dashed down the stairs each day with my Stradivarius.

Perhaps that was why today was so vexing. My fingernails dug into the window frame above my head as I glared out at the pouring rain. I could not take my violin out in this. The rain would destroy her. Besides, no one would be standing out there in the rain to listen to violinists playing. Heaving a sigh, I leaned my head against my arm feeling utterly useless. This damn bleak apartment was a cage today, the rain the imprisoning bars. I wanted nothing more than to be out there on the street playing … a revelation that surprised me. Weeks ago the very thought of doing such a thing bore such a horrendous feeling of disgust.

Shutting my eyes, I listened as a train rumbled through, flinging droplets of sooty water through the open window on me. It was going to be a long, lonely day. Reaching my fingers into my pocket I pulled out the length of cord with a small lead weight attached to the end of it. It looked so bloody harmless, this object from another time of my life I seemed to always have somewhere concealed on me. Just a weighted length of fine catgut. How often such simple little things could be altered by skilled hands. Tucking the cord back into my pocket, I shuffled across the floor picking up my opium pipe. I wasn't shaking … not yet. But I couldn't think of much else to do and this weather was not helping my mood any.

Flipping open the box, I was about to pinch off the corner of a cake when an unusual scream rent the air. The harlot downstairs. I had heard her enter with a client. Sometimes there were rather disruptive choruses penetrating the floor. But this … this was different! The animalistic cry of distress. Before I could even think, my instincts launched me down the stairs to kick open her door.

The back of the man's head was in full view. Her fingernails dug into his arms in white-knuckled desperation. I could hear the gurgled attempt to cry out for help. He must have had one hand grasped around her throat. The other was a fist raised ready to come down.

The cord found its way into my hand. Over my head I gave the lead weight a swift circular flick with so much momentum that it whistled before flying free to sling around the man's neck. The lead weight carried through the circle looping around itself at the back of the head where it collided with a bone cracking _THWACK_! Yanking back, I felt the pressure temporarily relieve the brain the man was not even using of its blood flow. Sagging backwards, the big lump fell off the mattress onto the floor, leaving the harlot gasping for breath.

Striding into the room, I flicked the slipped knot loose and returned the cord in an orderly fashion to my pocket. Methodically placing my fingers against the side of the man's meaty neck, I felt his healthy pulse through the coating of sweat. He was unconscious with a large goose egg swelling on the back of his head but otherwise unharmed. Snatching his wrist with my left hand, I dragged him across the floor yanking him out the narrow doorway and placing him precariously on the edge of the broken board at the top of the stair well. Delivering a swift kick to his abundant gut, I watched as his limp body unceremoniously jostled down the steps, the momentum rolling him around the curve and down the next flight before I lost interest.

Wiping my hands on my vest I entered her room grumbling, "Had to take out your trash." My steps slowed when I laid eyes on her curled into a ball in the middle of the bed, her clothing torn and held closed by her trembling hands. She was panting, shaking and making every visible effort to suppress the terrified tears from welling into her eyes. Already the bruises on her bare arm and neck were beginning to show. A droplet of blood welled on her cheek.

Taking in the cluttered apartment in a glance, I spied a bowl of clear water and a cloth near by. She did not seem to be aware of my presence as I wrung out the cloth and approached, seating myself down on the end of the bed. With painstaking caution, I dabbed away the blood on her face.

She flinched, her eyes focusing for the first time. Drawing back slightly, she trembled and whispered. "Oh God!"

"Shh." Placing a hand on her shoulder to keep her still, I pressed the cloth against the small cut. "It is not so bad. Just a little blood. It will not even leave a scar. Keep this on it."

I waited for her to reach up and take the cloth but she didn't. Remaining frozen, she just sat there shaking, gulping in air.

Drawing the cloth back after a few moments, I noted the bleeding had stopped. Quietly I remarked, "See? There we are. On the morrow you will be a fair amount prettier than that brainless lump of meat downstairs."

"What … " Her voice cut out as she was forced to swallow, eyes glanced around the room before settling on me with uncertainty. "What did you do to him?"

"Gravity did most of the work. Though I do believe he shall have a remaining aversion to your trade by association of being strangled and tossed down the stairs, if he remembers anything at all after this." My fingers traced a bruise on her shoulder causing her to flinch. "Are you alright?"

Under my concerned gaze she quailed, sinking her face into her hands. "I never should have let that brute in here!"

Reaching over, I drew the bowl of water to me and wet the cloth once more. Gently I took her wrist and tended to the bruised flesh. Tentatively her eyes began to study me, a mixture of confusion and disbelief playing on her face.

"You're helping me," she whispered, "I thought you hated me."

I kept my eyes on the wounded flesh as I suppressed a slight shudder at her words. "Of course I am helping you. Only a ruffian would leave a woman in distress." I felt the heat rise under the mask as I muttered, "And I do not hate you. It has far more to do with the surroundings of this place than you."

"All this time I thought you were just a … a freak."

My fingers ceased to move, locked in place as I closed my eyes against the pain that word inflicted on me.

It was her turn to look away. I could feel the heat raising on her face even from where I sat in close proximity. "That bothers you, doesn't it. When I call you that."

A nod was all I could manage, ever so brief an acknowledgment.

Her fingers pensively tapped the back of my hand before she actually fully embraced it. "I am sorry. I really didn't know you, Erik."

Jerking back for a moment, I looked right into her face unable to even ask the question.

She gave a sheepish smile, pointing at the ceiling. "Everything's so thin here. I heard your friend shouting your name more than once. He seemed to be more suited to Nadir, and you more likely Erik, so I assumed. Please correct me if I am wrong."

I cleared my throat before resuming tending the bruising on her arm. "You assumed correctly, and apparently I must have a few words with Nadir about the volume of his lectures while we remain in this wretched tenement."

"It took me some time to pick out your name from his strange words. You are much easier to understand." She studied me before she glanced away. "I'm Chastity, in case you did not know."

That drew my eyes up to study her. Before I could suppress it I burst out laughing. "You poor child! My you have fallen far short of the virtue of your name."

Blushing a deep red, she turned away from me, drawing her torn dress tighter yet as I clamped a hand over my mouth for my rudeness.

"Please, I … "

"No." Her raw voice cut short my attempt to apologize. "You are right. That I am here is indeed laughable. My name is but an insult to what fate has cast upon me. There was so much more my dowry should have purchased than to be cast aside when my husband died. His greedy family left me with no choice but this shit-hole. Look at me … no longer a budding flower, but a wilting bloom in my age. Soon no one will lie with me and what shall I do to keep a room?"

Twisting the cloth in my fingers, I swallowed deeply. She wasn't an old woman by any means, perhaps entering her thirties and yet her fears were indeed founded. Shallow men would overlook her, grasping for some fresher piece of meat to skewer. That was the brutal reality. That thought was nearly enough to carry me down the stairs to finish what I had started with her assailant. One quick flick of my knife and he would never skewer anything again. He would spend the rest of his days solving the dilemma of how to piss straight.

A brush of her fingers against my shoulder broke my train of thought. Glancing over at her, I watched as she lowered her gaze to my folded hands. "I only have one way to thank you." Tugging the dress off her shoulder, the fabric fell as she rocked forward, crawling across the bed towards me with clear intent.

"Oh shit!" Scrambling away, I barely managed to stay on my feet as my own momentum carried me into a collision course with my back and the wall. I heaved each breath as my wide-eyes took in her confused gaze at my reaction to her unspoken suggestion.

Cocking her head, she pulled the dress closed again, concealing her more private flesh to my relief. "Erik … are you alright?"

A nervous laugh escaped me as my fingernails dug into the wall. "It is just that … well … "

"You're not … " Her face squinted, glancing down.

"No!" I could not believe how tight my throat was, how very highly pitched my voice had leaped to. Forcing a little more control I shook my head. "No … it is just my heart belongs to another. A love … a love who is lost to me. You understand." I found the fortitude to leave the support of the wall. "There is nothing wrong with you. You are a rather lovely woman. But I cannot, out of respect to her."

 _Christine_. Oh how my heart slammed against the confines of my chest. I felt my knees threatening to buckle as my head bowed. What had I done?

She brushed her fingers against my limp hand a moment before she took it, softly lacing her fingers with mine. "I never would have imagined it, not after all this time."

I opened my eyes to see Chastity gazing up at me. When I said nothing, she smiled placing a hand into the middle of my shirt.

"You really do have a heart."


	12. Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

Too late I realized I probably should have smoked myself to sleep. By now in my life I had learned the dangers of trying to rest when something plagued me. I could not blame Chastity for her earlier predicament. It wasn't her fault that I had listened to Nadir's ceaseless nagging about my need to get a proper night's rest. Why had I listened? I bloody well knew better!

Now here I was, as predictable as the tide with the phases of the moon. The accursed halls of the mirrored wilderness stretched out before me. Dry eyes studied the paths of the chains in the dismal realization that the nightmare had chosen to drop me into a woven prison from which I could find no extraction. Every which way I turned, my passage was barred. Through the infernal links I was made to see the reflection of the past, a time that I wanted nothing to do with anymore! At the mercy of my tortured subconscious I was held suspended, witness to the haunting images of a bygone world …

The year was 1850 … early spring in the Russian steppes … inside the village of Samarskoye to be precise. Despite the bitter morning air, the village was alive with the excitement of the traveling fair. This far from the main roads, not many troupes made their way along the banks of the trickling river leaving this village's humble existence rather sheltered. They were perfect targets for the con-artistry Renne liked to employ. I should know, having gone into contract with him in the middle of last year as a magician in his troupe. I had been watching his vile practices, both within the troupe and amid the villagers we played to. Possessing handsome features, he bore the elegant French nature of his country of origin like a pennant, waving it proudly over the heads of the world he toured as Régisseur Renne. Few were fully aware of the true despicable nature of this man. Whenever a dispute occurred, he was swift to remind any member of the troupe that he owned them by signed contract and this _family_ was completely under his unyielding authority. He swore it bought him loyalty by calling us family. He also swore it gave him the right to treat us however he desired.

We were a decent sized troupe. Counting the assistants employed just to drive carts and work the crowds we numbered a few dozen overall. But there was a stark division between Renne's choice of talent and his choice of hired hands. Renne's tastes catered to the freak show. Though his hired staff knew we brought in the money, their status always overtook those of the acts. Clearly, as was made apparent by Renne's barking, I was no exception to that! He may not have known I was peering around the side of the wagon, listening.

"Wonders for the eyes! Such as you have never seen!" He called out in Russian affected by his native French. "Come and see the Fire Eater! And where will you come across not one, but two captive werewolves! Young and being tamed by the daring Caballero!" His voice dropped down to a hushed whisper. The crowd leaned forward as he continued. "See the one and only Devil's Apprentice perform feats that defy all physical laws! And—if you are unlucky enough, perhaps at the end of the performance he will remove his mask and you can hear the Devil sing!"

God, I hated that man! How many times must I tell him that revealing myself was something I no longer desired to do. Every place we went to he chose the same pitch for my act. Fingering the blade under my embroidered robe, I pondered just how well he might be able to bark without possession of his tongue.

Fortune saw fit that my hand had not drawn the blade before Renne came around the side of the wagon to come face to mask with me. "Erik! Wonderful to be in your presence. Still my most profitable act. What a stroke of luck I had coming across your unusual talent."

My eyes narrowed as I glared down at the shorter man. "Yes, I have been meaning to speak with you about my performances. Let me make this abundantly clear, Renne. If you short me my cut ever again I swear I shall procure the balance in pounds of flesh from you."

"Short?" Renne met my eyes with the practiced confidence of a mountebank. He knew he had been caught, but he would not confess it. "Whatever do you mean? I have never shorted your cut of the profits."

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I did a head count of the crowd in my tent. Not a single refund was requested. Do not deign to tell me that insult of a pouch was the full share!"

He laughed before placing a hand on my shoulder, which I promptly shook off in disgust. "Oh Erik, what are you to do with all that anyway? Buy a bigger tent?" Then struck by a harsher barb, he looked me fully in the eyes, "Oh no, I understand it—the funds are to pay your mentor, the Devil!"

My hands balled into fists as I held back my desire to silence his obnoxious laughter with my Punjab cord. As he sauntered off consumed in his own merriment, I waited only long enough for him to be well out of earshot before I let my fist fly into the boards of the wagon accompanied by a strained cry of rage. Leaning against the wagon, I laid my head back and stared at the sky in wordless frustration.

Funny how the pressure of eyes gazing upon you can have a physical effect. When I lowered my gaze, there she stood peering around the next wagon in our circle. Little Luneth, her innocent blue eyes stared up at me with sympathy. It was before the show and thus she wore a full length cloak with the hood drawn up so no one might glimpse her. The poor child. Beneath that cloak she was entirely covered with soft white blond hair save for the palms of her hands and soles of her feet. Fourteen years ago, as Renne bragged, he had found the twin babies abandoned on the side of the road. Both covered entirely in hair. Ever the opportunistic charlatan he took them in and dubbed them Sirius and Luneth, werewolf pups. Displayed by the Spaniard Caballero, he dressed them both in nothing more than loincloths and short vests so as to reveal the most hair. The degradation was crowned with leather collars which he attached ropes to, pretending that the _dangerous creatures_ might try and attack him. This is the only life they had ever known.

"Go away." I muttered through clenched teeth.

My words had the opposite effect. Huddled in her cloak she tentatively stepped toward me. "Erik, is something wrong?"

With a roll of my eyes I growled. "Yes, I should say something is wrong! I am still trapped here in this wretched existence by that thief!"

"It's not so bad." She rubbed her arm nervously. "And Renne protects us."

I threw my head back in bitter laughter. "Protects us? Are you blind, Luneth! That louse is bleeding us dry of our dignity to line his pockets. He is a parasite with paperwork!"

Her lip trembled, made more evident by the mane of hair that hung from her chin. "There is strength in being together as we are. The world accepts us here, comes to see us."

"Gawk at us more like," I snapped back. "And this is not acceptance, child. This is exhibition. There is a difference, the latter a result of the sacrifice of one's pride. Every time, at the end of every performance, they demand it because of **his** suggestion. The removal of my mask. The baring of my face. They stare in horror at the sight, their screams of terror filling the air. They have forgotten all the magical wonders I have just shown them. What is the story they will tell? Not of those astounding visions they were subjected to—only the sight of the living skull that ended it!"

Firmly, she shook her head. "No. This is the place where we can be what we are without fear. You just don't want to accept it. If you do, you'll be happy, like the others."

It was horrid to think he had managed to keep her so naïve for so long.

"They are not happy." I scowled. "They are just ignorant."

It was a word she did not know and yet she was the very embodiment of the state. Taking another step toward me, she reached out a hand. "After the performances are over tonight, the troupe is going to have a bonfire with a huge celebration. Lots of real food instead of dried rations and all sorts of music and dancing. Renne has bought us a huge feast!"

When she fell silent, I shrugged. "So?"

"I was wondering if anyone had told you and if you were coming?" Her eager eyes caught the sunlight as she raised her head and the edge of the hood tipped back ever so slightly. When I did not reply she twisted a foot in the dirt. "I was hoping to ask you to dance with me."

I clipped my words to make things clear. "No one tells me anything, Luneth. They avoid me like a plague, something you should consider doing in the future. Why would you want to be seen with me anyway?"

Her eyes followed my hands as I tried to dismiss her. Shyly, she murmured, "Because I like watching how you move."

Heaving a sigh, I pushed her away. "That is quite enough. Now you should get yourself out of sight before Caballero sees you wandering the crowd once more prior to a performance."

"Luneth, what are you doing?" Folker peaked around the wagon. "Caballero has been looking for you. Run along. Keep yourself covered!" One of the hired hands, Folker was a strong but rather intellectually challenged German. He was picked as a front man for many of the acts because of his pleasing appearance. Once the young girl had vanished around the side of the wagon he glanced at me questioningly, "I knew you were a lonely wretch, but don't tell me your taste runs in dogs."

Turning abruptly away, I did not even acknowledge the insult … outwardly. Inside, it was just one more blade lancing my heart. Hardly the first from this man and undoubtedly not the last. I did not have time to waste on his petty remarks. I had my tent to pitch and preparations for my act. I had no one to help me.

Later on my stage I was reminded how astonishingly simple it is to deceive the average human. Garbed in layers of beaded and embroidered silks, comprised of wine reds and deep midnight blues, I cut an ominous figure. Many magicians bore the signs of the stars and moon on their robes. Mine had the detail of flames rendered in metallic threads and light catching beads. The effect was subtle and thematic with the idea that I had forged a bond with Lucifer. Mere showmanship. The same went for the silver uroboros pendant dangling around my neck. It was a serpent twisted like the figure eight turned upon its side, biting its own tail.

I flung feats of prestidigitation at the gathering throng in a rapid pace that overwhelmed their senses. Just when they thought they had figured out the trick with some enclosed box or device, I would produce the same effect without the tool. There were levels of deception in my act that transcended many of other magicians acts. To stand within my tent one might be easily under the impression that the laws of the physical world were mine to bend and break at will. Which was precisely the impression I desired to create, an illusion I was highly efficient at producing.

My final progression was a trick with a traveling rose. The first time, it simply shifted from one box to another across the stage. Any novice illusionist could produce this using a mirrored slide and two visually identical buds. Oh yes, _yawn_ , how amazing. Much too base of a trick for me to produce in that amateurish fashion. After all, it was made evident that was not how I had done it when that one rose suddenly became a dozen. Not just once but once more again. Flowers this early in spring are difficult to come by, especially in that quantity. Spotting the merchant I had procured the single rose from earlier that day, I addressed her in the crowd as I plucked the single rose from the bunch.

"Is this not the very bud I had purchased from you this morning?"

She studied the thorny stem and followed it up to the leaves then at last to the bud with the faint marking on the outer petal, the pale blush. "By the stars! It is! But how?" Her eyes looked at the bunches of flowers now on the stage.

"That is my secret." I let her take the flower I had no more use for in her trembling hand. I withdrew to the back of the stage and was preparing to bow out when I heard it, murmured at first.

"The mask, take it off."

"Sing for us!"

Renne was going to pay for this! My hands clenched intermittently in fists as I stood before the verbal assault of the crowd's now repeatedly shouted request. If I should refuse, I knew they would request a refund. A state of affairs that had brought about a terrible argument between Renne and myself at a previous location. There was but one way out of this and I loathed the depths I was forced to plumb.

Slowly, as though the action was something I did naturally and willingly at every performance, I removed the mask to the sharp gasps from the throng, which now took several steps back when confronted not with the mysterious white mask but instead my abhorrent deformity. I knew even now, all the wonder was being drained from their minds at the cost of my dignity. They wanted to hear me sing? Fine! I could cheat both them and Renne in the same gesture.

The shortest song I knew had four simple lines. I had learned it around the slopes of the Himalayas in India and now sang it in that native tongue. When I had finished, I hastily replaced the mask and left my tent through the rear into the night air. Well, I had done it. The mask had come off, and I sang. They never specified what, and I had already seen the peculiar effect of my voice invading their consciousness. That little taste was sufficient.

Hours later, in the darkened embrace of the surrounding forest, I reclined on the low branches of an ancient tree with my violin in hand. I chewed idly on some dried salted meat of unknown origins. The bonfire reached up into the night as the troupe celebrated and cavorted around the light, the singing and dancing wild with abandon as they feasted in an illusion of unity. It was a harsh reality I laid my eyes on, and I could simply not allow myself to be deceived as so many of the others had been. We would always be seen as something less than human.

Ignoring the joyful music of the troupe, my bow brought forth the solemn strains of a Romany melody. It was the sound of endless longing, hopeless desire, the song of my heart and it was writing itself as the stars looked down upon my solitary figure. One can only hope for so long and yet, within those trembling notes still remained a faint flicker. Its source I could not discern from the depths of my despair.

When at last I opened my eyes not even recalling when they had closed, I cast my gaze back at the figures still dancing in silhouette before the flames. The bright light abolished their differences and from this distance they all seemed the same, swallowed by the dark relief of the shadow. That is what made us all equal, the darkness.

A quiet whine caught my attention. Darting my glance down I found one of Caballero's curs cowering at the base of the tree. His filthy pelt had once been a fine mottled gray, speckled with darker flecks. He was moderately sized with a balanced muzzle and a great plume of a tail tipped in white. I had previously seen this cur. He had been part of the animal acts before one of the other dogs savaged him some days ago. Maximus had been his name and he had lost badly. Now shy of both his pack and his trainer, he had been turned out, skittishly following the troupe on the road from a distance. This was all he had known, cruelty or not, his loyalty remained.

His soft brown eyes were fixed on the dried meat in my fingers as I held it out. Licking his lips, he nervously dragged his belly forward a pace or two before shuffling back away. He wanted the meat. He needed it. Already his ribs shown when he exhaled and I thought I could see the scabs from the wound glistening in the firelight.

"Come on, it is alright." I held my hand steady, careful not to move at all lest I frighten the poor dog away. "I will not harm you, Maximus."

At the sound of his name he yelped and withdrew a few paces, cowering even more.

"The sound of your own name brings pain to you?" I uttered with quiet astonishment. "I knew Caballero could be cruel, but for your own name to be turned upon you. Come to me, I only want to help you."

With his tail between his legs and his belly no more than a few centimeters above the ground, he made his way before me to cautiously nibble on the meat I offered. When he finished the first piece, a second appeared, followed by a third and a fourth. Now I was stroking his matted fur with my fingers as he pressed against my side for warmth. The wound on his neck needed tending. With a little coaxing I brought him to the river bank where he lay contentedly eating the strips of salted meat I offered him. Bathing the bloodied mat with water, I loosened the debris until I had fully washed the slashes in his neck. They were not too deep and now, freed to the open air, they should dry up and heal properly. On his flank he bore the distinctive welt from a stone having been slung at him. I presumed this was how Caballero had driven him off.

Patting the dog on the head, I sighed as I looked into his eyes. "I know how you feel, boy. I often do not understand their nature either."

When I tried to resume my solitary watch at the roots of the ancient tree, I discovered I was no longer alone. A warm body nuzzled up against my hip followed by the persistent nudging of a cold wet nose into my hand. My fingers wove into his soft neglected fur as he let a groan of simple pleasure escape him.

"How do you do it?" I asked as though the dog might reply. "Defeated so completely by the abuse and neglect and yet loyally you return night after night following on the heels of man?"

His only response was to lay his head upon my thigh, closing his eyes beneath the starlight. I had never longed more to be a dog in all my life.

The next night a strong storm blew in, lashing the camped troupe in our new location between villages. Bolts of lightning cleaved the sky in two to the immediate roar of thunder. Hearing the panicked neighs of the horses, I ducked into my thickest cloak and left the shelter of my tent with a lantern in hand. Nearby stood my two horses, huddled together, driving rain pouring over their flanks. Without a bridle or a rope, the pair had remained in the close proximity of my small wagon. Bijoux, the white mare, cast her eyes my way even as Merle, the headstrong black mare, stepped toward my outstretched hand. The fear was palpable as another bolt tore through the sky, illuminating the icy rain. Their heads flung up in alarm.

"Easy. Shh!" Both horses originated with gypsies and thus when I addressed them, I used the tongue they were most familiar with even though I had changed their names. Maximus was not the first animal I had come across whose name bore painful associations. "Bijoux, my sweet. Merle, my beauty. I am here and you are quite safe."

If I left them out here alone, their fear would surely overtake them. I was not foolish enough to take them into my small tent. One good bolt and that would be the end of that structure. That left me with one option. Setting the lantern down, I sat on a thick patch of grass that I hoped would not turn into a muddy mess by morning. Merle came along my left side, nuzzling my shoulder as she laid down close to me, her tail wrapped around my knees. Moments later, to another flash in the night, Bijoux's timid steps brought her to my right side where she mimicked the black. The rain continued its torrential downpour as I curled up between my mounts, wrapped in the drenched woolen cloak.

By morning, the worst of the storm had broken, leaving behind only the leaden sky that promised more rain in the chilly air. I awoke under the dripping cover of my cloak to hear the dismayed cries from the camp as they discovered the entire company of horses had broken free of their tethers and run off. All save two. Bijoux and Merle nuzzled me affectionately from where they lay on either side of me. Bijoux neighed softly as I tickled her ear.

"Wait! They didn't all run off! Look!" Caballero's voice brought the troupe running just as I stood up stiffly from between my horses. "Erik's are still here!"

"How? How when everyone else's ran did his stay! He never ties the animals." Renne mused.

Wringing some of the water from my clothing, I remarked, "Because when I heard the storm approaching I came out and slept with them."

Folker drew back with an expression of unbridled disgust. It was followed by a wave of shocked stares me from the others.

With a hostile glare I retorted, "That is not what I meant, you detestable bag of scum!" My reputation now apparently had another undeserved quirk.

"Erik," Renne ignored the exchange. "We need to get the horses back. We have a performance south of here."

I ran a hand over Merle's wet forelock, "Up you go, girl. We have some horses to find." I had only just climbed on her back when I turned to the panicked protestations of Bijoux as Renne attempted to clumsily mount her side. She was trying to bite him and secretly I did not blame her. "She will not let just anyone ride her, and I would not try that again if I were you."

As Merle tossed her head in the air waiting to run, he glared up at me. "Why not?"

I laughed at his expense. "She does not trust you. And, as neither do I, I can hardly ask her to carry you against her will." The strike against his pride drove home, revealing itself in his blazing eyes as I knew it would. "Bijoux, come along girl."

With that, I let Merle take the lead. I had no saddle nor bridle on the horses. Through a delicate pattern of pressure with my knees I controlled our direction. It was a relationship built entirely on trust. I rode into the surrounding wooded hillside, soon finding a panting dog smiling at my side. Maximus was trotting along with his nose to the wind in a curious manner. I had every intention of locating the missing horses quickly. I hoped their mutual fear had driven them into their herd instinct somewhere close by. Could I be fortunate enough that this cur had already caught their scent? I decided I had no reason not to trust his bright eyes and guided Merle along his lead.

Less than an hour later we crested the hill to the sight of nearly every missing horse grazing in the pasture. When I counted, only two were not among them. Leaving Bijoux and Maximus to tend the passive herd, I took a quick turn of the surrounding hillside before deciding the two were nowhere in the vicinity and we did not have time enough to locate them. I was surprised to find that Maximus must have had some kind of herding in his parentage. As we rode along the path, back to the stranded camp, he drove the herd of horses like he had been doing it all his life. On the way, I tossed him a bit of dried meat as a reward for a job well done. The less I had to chase down a straying horse, the less winded Merle and Bijoux would be when we returned.

If I had hoped for some grand gesture of thanks, I should have been gravely disappointed. Not a word was spoken to me as the horses were seized by their respective owners to the nagging banter of Renne, urging them to quickly hitch up. We needed to move on. I was in the process of hitching Bijoux to my wagon when Caballero and Folker drew up beside it. "You left them on purpose."

"Them who?" I replied while tying a knot.

"Don't play the fool with me, Erik!" Caballero growled. "Our horses! The only two missing. You left them out there on purpose, didn't you!"

Standing upright before the men, I met their hostile glares with a steady gaze. "There was hardly sufficient time for such a vengeful strategy. Your horses were not amongst the rest, that was all. If you wish to locate them yourselves, I am certain they are still out there to be found. However, Renne made it quite clear time is of the essence. Now, it appears we shall be moving out." I pointed to the front of the line where Renne was riding onto the road with the first wagons following behind him. Climbing onto the seat of my own I whistled to get Merle's attention. She had been grazing nearby in the sodden grass. Rolling out onto the road, Merle walked alongside the wagon conversing with Bijoux on the way.

It did not take long for a bad morning to become worse. By midday the skies had opened up, repeatedly rendering the road beneath the wheels a veritable quagmire. Shoving my shoulder against the stuck wagon of another troupe member, we were all frustrated and weary from the other eight times this had happened already. I was not the only one who had discarded shoes due to their hindrance. The sticky mud only stole them from our feet. Barefoot, drenched to the bone and caked in mud, we were desperate to get the wagon onto solid ground.

"We're going to have to abandon it."

"Nonsense!" I growled, digging my feet into the ankle high mire. "We are not leaving it here!"

"Come on, put your backs into it!" Came the cries from the front, they were trying to urge the weary horse to pull.

"OWWW!"

"What happened? Who was that?"

Peering around the corner of the stationary wagon, I saw Folker holding onto his foot wailing like a baby. "The wheel, it shifted and ran over my foot! I think it's hurt bad!"

"Let me look at it." I started towards him, when he hobbled back.

"Oh no! I just need to rest it!" Hobbling away he made for another wagon and vanished into its shelter.

Quickly glancing at the rut, I noted there was no impression of his foot anywhere near the wheel's path. The wheel that had not shifted for a quarter of an hour. "Where the devil is Renne?" I searched the troupe for our loyal leader, only to find him absent.

Bernard pointed south down the road. "He went ahead to Buribay to let them know we are coming. We need to lever it."

Great, so he left the hard work to us. "Against what?" Looking beneath the wagon I pointed out, "More mud? There is nothing to use as a pivot! What we need is some firm dry ground."

Beside me, the others grew restless as a crack of thunder rumbled ominously right before the sky once more poured down its cold payload upon us. Every shoulder fell. Spirits quite literally dampened. "No dry ground here, Erik. Well, you're the magician. Levitate the damn wagon!"

"It is not that simple!" I snapped back casting my eyes to the punishing sky. That's when I saw it. "Maybe it is!"

Sloshing through the muck, I grabbed onto the trunk of a stout tree, climbing up onto a large limb that stretched out directly above the wagon. Testing the strength of it and doing a quick estimation, I concluded it was worth the risk of attempting this little stunt without knowing for certain if it would hold.

"Bernard!" I reached down. "Fetch two long ropes and toss them up to me."

Shielding his eyes from the rain, the burly man shouted up through the sound. "What are you doing?"

"Talking is not going to free the wagon. Now, do it!" The branch was slick from the rain, a natural lubricant that should help my plan. In a short span of time I caught first one rope then the other. Laying them over the branch, I dropped down a length sufficient to reach the ground before grabbing all four strands in my hand and swinging down onto the wagon. It took some maneuvering, but I wrapped the first rope under the entire vehicle and back up the other side to create a cradle for it.

As I was in the process of securing the second rope around the front half, Bernard scratched his head. "The wagon can't roll forward rigged like that."

"It is not going forward at the moment." I replied. "Be right back." In a matter of minutes I returned leading Bijoux and Merle, the former having been released from my wagon. Easing them into place, I laid a hand on their muzzles and addressed them. "I know I have asked a lot of you. But please, do this favor for me. Just a little pulling, a little resistance." When they pushed against my hand in acceptance I began to tether them to the lines slung over the branch.

Caballero leaned against a tree, remarking mockingly, "He speaks to them as though they understand him."

"I often find that most animals are capable of a greater extent of comprehension than the average human." The dark scowl over my shoulder was reward enough. I had stung the animal tamer in his own act. Coming before my horses, I gave them one final caress before returning to the far side of the wagon. "Bernard, make sure the axles do not twist. If they break we shall have no choice but to abandon the wagon."

He was staring at the slackened ropes. "How is this going to work?"

Ignoring his question, I called out, "Alright Bijoux, Merle, slowly advance!" I watched as my horses came to the end, gradually taking up the slack until they strained against the ropes. The wagon began to groan. "Easy now! Easy." My eyes were locked in the cycle as I watched my horses … the creaking branch overhead … the knots that were beginning to suspend the wagon over the mire … back to my horses. This was just like moving a block out of Giovanni's quarry back in Italy, only without the proper equipment. We did not need much play to get out of the rut in this fashion. As the wheels rose, into the air centimeter by centimeter, I watched for the moment we needed, when we had sufficient clearance. _Almost there, almost there!_ "Get ready everyone on this far side. When I say so, push!" They were bewildered, but all hands even Caballero's, came to the cart. The moment the wheels cleared the mire, I called out, "NOW!" The fully loaded wagon hovered above the ground. As we put all our weight against the side, it shifted out of the rut and onto firmer ground. Once I was certain, I released my team, "Ease back, girls!" And with that, the wagon settled back with hardly a bump.

Bernard checked that the wagon could roll forward the moment I had released the ropes. "We're free! Come on, let's get moving before this gets any worse."

"Never say that, Bernard! It always becomes a promise." There needed no more urging for me. Hitching Merle to the wagon I would let Bijoux walk beside.

We were all a solid hue of brown from the muddy roads. All save one. As I was checking the hitch I spied Folker swaggering out of the back of another wagon untangling himself from the arms of Daphne. Apparently his foot was feeling just fine now seeing as how he was devoid of a limp.

Hours later, when the weary troupe rolled in shortly before dusk, Renne was furious. Gathering us before him, he lectured us on being timely, and that our existence depended on being there to perform when we were scheduled. Because of u,s tonight's performances had to be canceled. We would hold the festivities tomorrow. I had barely been listening, only catching the important information. I was annoyed at the delay to care for my horses and remove the road from my clothing.

After seeing to my horses, drying them off as much as possible and brushing out their tangled manes, I staggered down to the riverbank. Mud had managed to get in between every layer of my clothing. Stripping off every sodden piece that had covered my upper body including the mask, I reached into the biting cold flow of the river and splashed the water over my head. The impact was enough to steal my breath for a moment. It was cold. But I would endure the needles of pain to get clean! The rivulets that flowed from my short black hair ran brown and I dug my fingernails into my scalp, reviled by the appearance of filth. The worst was to come, reaching in I splashed the water up onto my chest with a gasp.

That was when I heard a second inhalation. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Luneth holding her mouth.

Bitterly, I growled. "What are you so shocked by? It is not as though you have not seen me without the mask before."

She shook her head, her voice trembling, "Not your face—your back!"

With a roll of my eyes, I resumed scrubbing the mire from my body. "Can it be that my back is more hideous than my face? You will have to forgive me if I find that difficult to believe."

"Have you seen it?" she whispered.

"Of course not. Who has the ability to look at their own back? I am not a contortionist."

Approaching slowly, she was still staring wide-eyed. "How did it happen?"

I closed my eyes, my hands tightened on the filthy tunic in my hands before I dashed it into the river, my voice becoming taught as I forced back the raw emotions. "Javert happened. He believed I was nothing more than an animal to beat into submission. I thought otherwise. What you see is the scars of my resistance as he lashed me repeatedly for my disobedience when I would not roll over at his command. It was my bitter fight to retain some dignity."

"Do they hurt?" Her hand reached out and brushed against one of the raised lines.

"Not anymore. But they all did at one time." I wrung out the fabric trying to ignore the sensation of her fingers as they traced the old scars. "Some of them not for long, as he had a passion for rendering me unconscious. Sometimes I swear that was the only thing he was passionate about. Holding authority over a young boy whom he saw as feeble and powerless. His underestimation of me resulted in his untimely death."

She sat down beside me, studying me as I tried to ignore her presence. "Is that why you hate this life? Because of these scars?"

"It is far more complicated than that." I snarled. "You are fortunate, that at the very least, while Renne has sheltered you from the reality of this world, he has not reduced your existence to a cage. His method of presenting you and your brother has at least never included bars and chains. You have never been forced to fight on a daily basis for a shred of respect."

In silence, she watched as I freed the mire from the embroidered cloak. Some time had elapsed before she drew her knees beneath her chin. "You're always so sad. Even when you're angry there is an incredible sadness about you. Why?"

I held on to the hood letting the water spread out the folds of the great cloak. I watched the ripples as her question caught in my throat. "Because I have seen too much of this world to know I will never … have a place in it. It is a concept I cannot reconcile."

"You have a place." Her pitying gaze knifed me as she rested a hand on my arm. "Here, with us."

My eyes shut tight of their own accord. A tear escaped me before I had the chance to banish it. "So you keep reminding me." I felt the rage building again, the trembling as I drew the cloak from the waters and roughly threw it on the bank before turning on her. "Yes, you are right. I have finally accepted there is nowhere else in the world for freaks like us! But instead of leaving me happy as you said, I am left hollow with despair! It may be sufficient for you. But this is not what I want! This is not what I am!"

Against my outburst she had drawn back from me wide-eyed. Sirius came running across the clearing and wrapped his darker blonde arms tightly around his sister protectively. His narrowed eyes glared at me warningly. "Luneth! What are you doing? How many times must I tell you to leave him alone! Everyone else seems to know he's mad. Why won't you listen?"

Tucking her head into his chest hair, she sniffled. "Sirius, maybe they're all wrong."

"Get up." His eyes never left me, as though he felt I would attack them if he dared to glance away. He lifted his chin as he addressed me, "She won't bother you again."

"See that she does not." I watched the two walk, off feeling the stab of shame. So, even among them I was seen as an outcast. Even here there, was really no place for me.

Early next morning I was wandering about the village in search of a few locally procured items to enhance the show, when I discovered I had a pair of followers. Every time I glanced over my shoulder Caballero and Folker were some distance behind me, abysmally failing to hide in the crowds. Growing weary of the game, I made my way back toward our camp. It was only a matter of time before the men revealed their intent.

I did not have long to wait. The glint of Folker's blade in the sun, the moment before the two men came at me, was sufficient. In a single motion the Punjab cord came flying out, alive in my hands as it looped around Caballero's neck. A swift flick and a slack loop swung up and over to settle around Folker's neck. Tugging sharply, I pulled the catgut, rewarded with the sensation of feeling both their windpipes crushed beneath the pressure right before they collapsed. Releasing the tension of the thin weapon, I concealed it back within the hidden pocket. It was over for them. These petty men would never again draw a breath.

When I chanced a look around I wondered if I might not as well. Several members of the troupe were running off in a panic. Whether or not my action had been in self-defense would not matter to Renne when evidenced against two of his hired hands having been killed by one of his freaks. With haste I packed my wagon, hitching Bijoux up rapidly. I had to get out of here, quickly, before ….

The low growl of a dog from under my wagon caught my attention. I spied Maximus's muzzle as he peered around the rear wheel, his lips drawn back in a savage expression. Those soft brown eyes were hard and piercing as they fixed on something behind me. When I turned to look, I was confronted with nearly the whole of the troupe surrounding me, armed with an array of make-shift weapons. I did not have a chance of escape. Every device I could use as a diversion lay inside my closed wagon.

The troupe released a demented cry as they surged forward. I ducked as much as I could beneath the rain of objects thrown at me—until someone got lucky. An explosion of light stole my vision and everything went black before I could feel myself hit the ground.

I could not breathe, or rather when I tried I felt a sudden heaviness in my lungs. Instinctively I thrashed, discovering there was water entering my lungs. A hand yanked me back upright, holding tightly to the back of my neck as I coughed and gagged. Once my eyes could focus, I discovered a bucket of water before me. I was on my knees with my hands tied behind my back and not one, but two men standing on either side of me ensuring I did not move. My own blade was held against my neck forcing me to look up despite the ache in the back of my head. Then I saw it. Renne stood glaring before me, in his hands was my mask.

He sneered. "Erik, you know you really are ugly as sin. It is a miracle that you were ever permitted to draw your first breath. Never mind all the breaths that followed."

Enraged by his words, I tried to struggle but soon discovered my folly when the world took a violent swirl beneath me. If the hands had not been holding me, I would have fallen over. The wound somewhere on the back of my head must have been the cause. By the looks of things it would not my biggest problem for very long.

"Now, the problem lies in what you have forced me to do. You killed two of my men. Granted, both of them had a tendency to cause me issues within the troupe. But still, a death is a death." He studied me as though in serious contemplation. "What shall be your fate, monster?"

"I am not a monster!" I snarled, feeling the pressure of my throat against the blade.

Renne did not have a chance to reply before the troupe erupted into a chorus. "Kill him! Blood for blood!"

So, this was how it would end. All their voices calling as one.

No, that was not precisely true. My eyes caught Luneth pulling away from her brother as she cried out frantically, "No! Don't! This isn't right! You don't understand!" Sirius clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her back into the circle. Her voice had not been alone. Tied to a tree, Maximus barked and whined, pitching his weight against the binding. Such undying loyalty.

Taking a step toward me, Renne looked directly into my eyes, the finality of his intentions written clearly on his cold face. He would end my life here and now. Instead of drawing back, I strained into the sharp edge of the blade at my neck, sneering up at Renne.

Finally, something I could accept!

Then he stopped. Just like that, the Frenchman hovered over me and a slow smile crossed his lips as he sliced a hand in the air for silence. "No! No." He laughed, low and drawn out. "That's what he wants. Just look in those crazy eyes and you can see it blazing. Erik, you want me to end your wretched life!" Seizing the blade from the man who held it to my throat he shook his head. "It would be a kindness I refuse to bestow."

When the troupe began to protest, he kept his eyes locked on me, letting the chaos grow to an alarming pitch before silencing them once more. He wanted me to know who was in command here.

"Relax. He will not be staying here." Sliding behind me I felt him cut the ropes on my wrists before commanding the men to let me go. The knife was flung point down into the dirt between my hands where I had fallen forward. Once more the troupe was alarmed as my left hand closed on the hilt. "You're all afraid that he will hurt me." Renne grinned as my eyes glared up at him in hatred. "There's nothing to worry about. He's harmless right now. See how he sways? Erik may be insane, but he's not enough of an idiot to try to take a stab at me when he has no sense of balance."

Damn it, the man saw it!

It was true. I knew if I even attempted a sudden movement I was liable to black out again.

Renne laughed as he saw my gaze drop to the ground in acknowledgment. "This is my decree." He produced a page from inside his vest. "See this Erik? It's your contract." Holding it to a torch, he let the flames consume it. "Nothing binding anymore. You get your wish, magician. Take your wagon and leave us. Go in search of acceptance beyond these stages out in the world. Acceptance you shall _never_ find! If I ever see your face again I will bury it in a crypt where it belongs." Flinging my mask at me, he gestured for the crowd to part.

My mask lay in the dirt before me. Dismally, I picked it up and put it on in silence. It is difficult to maintain one's dignity when walking in a straight line is beyond one's means. I tried to leave the circle without staggering … and abysmally failed. My pathway took me to the edge of a wagon where I roughly caught my weight against it, taking deep breaths as I let the world settle. Not far from me, Maximus's crazed barking as he continued to strain at the end of his rope stole my attention. The weight of the blade still in my hand registered as I steadied myself. Such undying loyalty, it should never be restrained in such a fashion. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the blade that had once been Javert's on a swift arc where it drove point down into the ground against the taut rope. As I pushed my weight off the wagon, I heard the strands that comprised the rope snapping one by one, as they rubbed against the sharp edge. Maximus's paws pounded the muddy ground as they gained purchase through the stunned troupe, his savage growls joined as one with Renne's frantic screams. I could not look back as I staggered on. The world was beginning to fall from beneath me. But by the sounds, I could discern that not much assistance was being lent to the man. Whether or not he lived through the attack, Renne's pleasing appearance was now forever marred by the teeth of the cur I would never see again.

Dizzy and having trouble keeping my eyes open, I at last reached my goal to pull myself up on the wagon and release Bijoux with a word, trusting that Merle was following. My head hurt too much to check. The sunlight's glare was sheer torture. I had to close my eyes, even as the tears fell from them.

Merle's insistent nuzzling brought me back to consciousness some time later. The sun had passed well below the horizon. We were beside a river, Bijoux and Merle taking their fill. With no small amount of difficulty, I slipped down from the wagon and stumbled to the water. It was cold and inviting. Laying on my back, I let the throbbing goose-egg on my head rest in the flow of the water. The bite was painful at first before the numbing sensation provided relief.

The stars looked down on my prone figure as I remained there for sometime, silent and unmoving, broken and unwilling to even try to go on. Renne had cast the worst fate upon me possible. For he knew as well as I the wicked nature of the world he had extended my prison sentence in. Beneath those stars, my last flicker of hope snuffed out. The wispy smoke of the dying dream lingered there long enough to twist my already tortured mind. If I could never be human, what was there left for me to be? …

Shivering beneath the thin blanket, I opened my eyes to find my arms holding me up off the bed. My head hung there as I gulped in the chilled night air. Beside me, Nadir snored away undisturbed. How I envied him!

Sliding out of the bed, I staggered out of the small bedroom, clutching my arms tightly desperate to reorient myself. This was why I did not like to sleep for hours. I normally closed my eyes for a span of less than an hour. It didn't leave enough time for the wilderness of mirrors to form. These wretched memories … these scenes of the past that haunted me and left me groping for reality. I did not know … I had not known for many years what was real any longer.

I fell against the window frame, looking out into the vacant night. The rain no longer fell, leaving behind a glistening canvas that reflected even the faintest source of light. Still grappling with the dregs of my nightmarish hallucinations, I was forced to shut my eyes from the confusing distortions.

Leaning there, feeling the splinters of the wood against my bare forehead I felt my knees buckle. All those years ago, when I had yet to even be considered a full grown man … I had been ready to die. An oblivion would have been better enduring the pain and humiliation of … life.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I scuffed my foot against the curb in the deep shadows of the early dawn. The disorientation had never truly abated throughout the night leaving me rather irritable. Normally I would have waited for Nadir to rise and stumble through his routine before leaving the apartment. But this morning I abandoned my habitual caution, choosing instead to wander out into the damp chill. The only reason I was aware it was cold was the lingering puff of each breath hanging in the air. I felt nothing. Already carts were emerging, shoved into place by the blurry eyed merchants jostling to set up in the best location possible.

Uncertain why I had leapt to this conclusion, I had been convinced that I would find Blanjini already leaning against the iron pillar. In that same fog I was left staring at the vacancy, momentarily bewildered as to why a sight I had become so familiar with did not greet me. Of course he wasn't here, Blanjini was sensible. It was not like the man would have slept out on the street. What a ridiculous notion that was. Yet I felt disappointed as I waited in silence, my fingers toying with the pegs on my violin. I wanted to dive into some philosophical discussion, anything but lingering on last night's plague of visions.

Nothing is quite so conspicuous as a figure standing still in a flurry of activity. In my peripheral vision, I was drawn to him. An unassuming figure on its own, he wore a brightly striped vest under a gray wool jacket. The bowler hat nestled in a tangle of curled hair. But his eyes, the only thing that moved, roved up and down my figure from head to toe and back again.

He took a slow series of steps, bobbing like a pigeon as he did so. "Remarkable." The word was exhaled more than spoken as he gawked up at me.

In an unhurried motion, I reached up and flicked the hood of my cloak to shadow the mask and any evidence that might be visible.

"No no." He held a staying hand out. "Please don't. Let me see … yes it is true!" Staring directly at my eyes, a smile twitched on his lips. There was a hunger in those eyes, a disturbing hunger that I recognized all too well.

 _Beware, you know this dance!_

The voice in my head startled me. Unable to reply to _his_ prodding, I stood in a profound silence half closing my eyes.

Shifting from foot to foot, the rude man observed me from various angles before clasping his hands together. "You Sir, what an absolute honor! I had heard rumors of this extraordinary sight. Truly before me must be the man they call the Bowery Nightingale. It can be no other!" His insulting scrutiny of my figure confirmed the detailed rumors. "The towering height. The bone thin fingers capable of an impressive reach on the neck of an aged Stradivarius. Cloaked and hooded. A mask never removed, with the most mesmerizing mismatched eyes peering out at the world. The music is said to be heavenly, a gift from God himself emanating from a creature who seems to have defied the grave."

 _Creature? Oh now, we have heard that tune before, have we not? You know what's coming. Don't let him get to that point. Silence him now before he even suggests it!_

The violin shifted in my right hand. The fingers on my left hand drifted down, touching the cold handle of the concealed blade. It took all my concentration to keep my breathing steady, my gaze nothing more than cold dismissal.

Removing his hat, he held it to his chest, inclining his chin. "You Sir, are so much more … more captivating than ever they described! This is hardly the place for such a spectacle!"

 _Spectacle? Heh heh, come on, silence him before this fracus goes any further._

"Hear me out. A stage where people will pay good money just to lay eyes on you!"

It took a supreme effort to conceal how much I trembled. The fingers of my left hand closed around the hilt, working the blade free centimeter by centimeter under the confines of my cloak.

 _Erik … will you let him cage you? The money he speaks of will become his own. Men who would do this think nothing of those they imprison in the process. Cut. Him. Down. He is a waste of breath! A plague on humanity. A parasite._

"I am certain there is a reason for the mask." He swallowed eagerly like a drooling dog before a meaty bone. "No matter, I have a wonderful location for you far better then starving on a street corner. A building where people pay admission to see things just like you, freaks of nature."

 _Freak—of—nature! How_ _ **dare**_ _he!_

The blade was almost free. The tension in my arm like a war machine cocked and ready to unleash a payload of hellish fury.

 _Kill him!_

Clamping my eyelids shut, I wrested my wits back before I dared to open them again. Glaring down from my height, I watched as his body folded in on itself under the burden of my cold fury. Through clenched teeth I snarled, "You want nothing more then to leave this street with all haste and never return!"

Panic welled in his eyes as I saw my influence decimate his will, leaving him shaking so violently the buttons of his vest clattered like wind-chimes in a gale. He took a shambling step backwards, his jaw hanging slack before he launched himself into a break-neck run on a collision course with the Bowery crowd.

 _Aww, why did you let him live?_

"That is quite enough from you!" Turning my heel, I abandoned the street corner. Inside me roiled a concoction of emotions I was powerless to untangle and identify. The insolent words of that mountebank mixed with my memories created a volatile compound that only awaited one spark. There was nothing more I could do but protect those around me. Listen to the more sensible instinct. I had to go to ground … as best as I could.

Entering the apartment, I discovered it empty. Good! Sparing enough sense to lay my Stradivarius in her case I grabbed the wooden box and retreated to the dark bedroom. Striping off the mask, I threw it onto the floor hearing the stream of vitriolic curses echoing off the walls of the sparse room. The urge to destroy something clawed at me with so much violence I felt physical pain! Slamming the door shut to complete blackness of the room I rammed opium into my pipe before realizing my folly.

There can be no smoke without fire.

With a grunt, I opened the door and tore off the edge of a draft, heedless of what it was. I shoved the end into the warm belly of the coal stove. My muttered curses worked up the embers catching the frail paper into a flame. Nearly spasming with my anger it took me more than one try to light the opium. Discarding the rest of the paper into the stove, I once more retreated into the room, shutting out all the light before falling backwards to the protest of the bed springs.

The faint glow of red lingered in the unbroken dark. Red that intensified as I pulled in a breath through the warm ivory tube, a breath infused with the promise of peace … a satiation to the hunger. A sob escaped me as I realized how very short sighted I had been. Just as my mask covered my deformity, so too did this smoke cover my insanity—making that sad state bearable to the outside world. Like some injured beast, I had retreated to my den to lick my wounds. The wounds of a never ending battle, but I could not lie here forever searching for an answer. The price of my crutch did not allow for me to recklessly consume it. I would have to … shutting my eyes I felt the warmth of a tear roll down.

I would have to drag my carcass down to the street corner where men, women, and children alike would ask themselves the same question, hungering for the same answer in that insolent mountebank's eyes—what's under the mask?

 _ **~Erik~**_

Ah the unpredictable nature of the dragon's breath. This time instead of soothing my troubled mind it chose to torment. I opened my eyes to the links of chains stretching before me. Stumbling backward in the wilderness, I tumbled into a dark pane, landing inside the confines of a soiled cage.

This was an odd perspective. Usually in my nightmares I witnessed the atrocities. I really must be more selective with my source of opium.

Pressing up from the sacks strewn on the floor I felt a sharp pain in both my wrists as my senses embodied the vivid memory. I glanced down in horror. Both my juvenile wrists were chafed raw, a filthy gag lying discarded between my splayed fingers.

No … no, no, not … I turned to look over my shoulder and there it was, the shoddy little coffin with the crude painted letters— _The Living Corpse_.

I was in Javert's cage! The gag gave me some inkling of how early in my captivity it was. Before I had learned to play docile. When I still held some naive hope that I could escape the humiliation of exhibition. That was a long time coming.

Even as I crouched in the darkened confines of my cage picking at a scab on my knee, I felt my thoughts dominated by the child I had been. I would not bear witness. I would suffer the indignity all over again, as powerless to alter my fate now as I had been in those distant days.

The exhibitions were over for the day, my cart back out of sight so the general public could not glimpse me without paying the demanded fee. I huddled in the center of the cage, my forehead resting on my drawn up knees. It was impossible to quell how reviled I was by the crowd gawking at me. Oh, they came. In droves they jostled around to get a better look at me, bound and gagged within the coffin. Did they see how I twisted against the ropes, how they rubbed my filthy skin until it bled? Did they care?

I heaved a sigh. Of course they didn't care. To them I was … what was that? The fabric that blocked the view shifted. I dismally glanced up expecting it would be Javert.

Two small hands appeared on top of the wheel. Slowly a child's face became visible. A young boy curiously peered through the bars. He was not a Gypsy, but a clean youth from the village in awe as he gawked at my grotesque face. For a moment, I shielded myself from his rude stare.

It only lasted but a moment … for I remembered. There, out of my reach hanging off the side of Javert's cart, was the key to my cage! I scrambled to my feet, my ragged clothing dangling from my limbs. My bare feet against the splintered wood, I tried to be careful despite my haste.

The boy leapt back as I surged to the bars, his hands coming up protectively.

"Please!" I begged him in French, hoping that we were still in France. I had been captive long enough to have lost track of where we wandered. "Please, help me. The key, get the key over there."

He didn't move. His eyes glazed in terror as I gripped the bars with one hand, my other flailing in the air towards the distant salvation. There wasn't much time.

"I beg of you! Release me!" I pleaded, pounding against the bars that prevented my escape, as he continued to stare dumbly. "I am just like you. For pity sake do not leave me here! I am human, a boy. Like you, just like you!"

His hands covered his face. He screamed.

"Shh! Please! Shh! Just get the key, let me out of this cage!"

A whip cracked the air.

Too late!

I hastily cringed back as the child fled from the shadow of my foul master. Javert glowered at me, his fat fingers seizing the key. "So, you ungrateful little monster, you want out? Fine. The door is open."

I glanced doubtfully up at him. He was standing beside the door … the path was clear. It had to be a trap. But … the door … it was open …

Against all sense, I slunk forward lower than a beaten mongrel, daring to edge toward my freedom. His cruel eyes watched my every move. An arms-length from the door I swallowed, took one more glance up at his still figure and made a dash for it.

His vice of a hand closed around my ankle, dragging me back until I hung upside down like a snared rabbit. Thrashing, I kicked and scratched blindly as he let my lanky body twist.

"Pitiful. You have a lot of spirit in you for a corpse."

I growled. Using momentum I flipped up and caught onto his arm. Tugging hard, I managed to get close enough to clamp my teeth onto his unwashed flesh. The bitter taste turned my stomach. I nearly vomited.

He yowled and flung my body back onto the cage floor. "Little beast! Knock the teeth right out of you if that face wasn't so valuable."

A rough rope looped over both my wrists, the knot slipped so tight it cut off the circulation. I writhed as he wrenched me off the ground calling out to a Gypsy to hold the rope.

The lash cracked in the air, increasing my frantic struggle. But my toes could only execute glancing blows on the floor.

"Don't have to be so careful with this part, though!" The next lash lit upon my back, reopening welts that only just healed from my last beating.

I tried not to cry out, tried to bite my tongue against the repetitious sting. Hung by my wrists, twisting against the flaying of my back muscles, the vital act of breathing became more and more taxing. Each vicious bite of his whip laid my flesh open. It was unrelenting, beyond what I could count, as my head fell back in want of air.

Silently I begged for it to stop. Even at the price of humility, at the price of breaking, I wanted to cry out for this to end. The effort, even had I the coordination to do so, would have been futile. There was no mercy to be found in Javert's twisted mind.

Another lash hit the center of my back with a disorienting flare. That savage stroke did more then simply tear muscle. I didn't have much time to consider the blaze of agony before the rope slackened dumping me onto the blood soaked floor.

Javert tugged the rope away from my wrists. Step by step he circled me slowly.

"Well Animal."

"I have … a name … " I panted.

"You have a name, Living Corpse, and you will be happy about it. Understood?" He leaned down glaring into my glazed eyes before gesturing to the door. "You wish to go free? I will let you leave if you can show me you are a human. Walk out of here."

Shuddering, I tried to push my body up. The floor pitched and turned beneath me. The muscles across my back refused to let me rise. Again and again I grunted, trembling under the impossible feat of strength. At last, shaking uncontrollably, I found myself staring at my white-knuckled fingers. Blood dripped from my shoulders.

I was on my hands and knees. Sheer agony ripped through me as I dragged my limbs across the splintered boards. Reaching the bars, I clamped my fingers on them, the only thing keeping me from complete collapse. I tried to wrench myself to my feet. They slipped from beneath me, my arms unable to sustain enough tension to keep me up. I kept trying. All I must do is get down the steps and I would be free.

Reaching my hand out of the door, I was forced to catch my weight. A shower of blood cascaded onto the stairs. Javert's foot slowly sank into the flayed flesh of my back. I wailed out despite myself. Losing my hold on the bar, gravity tumbled my limp body out face down into the grass.

Each breath was punctuated with a sob.

He leaned over me tapping my shoulder with the whip. "Men walk on two legs. Animals crawl on all fours. You have shown me what you are."

I cringed, tensing as he raised the lash.

"Javert, you asinine gorgio!" A Gypsy man struck the wagon with a chain. "Stop messing with that brat and get your wagons ready to depart. Quick about it."

With a leer Javert, flicked the whip and caught the tail of it.

The Gypsy leaned over my gasping body. "Hope he heals in time for the next faire."

"Even if he doesn't, a little grimace of pain will make him look more appropriate. He needs to learn his lessons."

"Is that a bone?"

A sharp pain left me disoriented as Javert prodded the center of my back. "Yeah. Who would have thought the little monster does have a backbone after all. Alright you, drag your carcass back in your cage."

I moaned.

"You think I don't mean it?" He rapped my shoulder with the crop, one pain stacked upon another. "Get back in there, now! If you hold us up you will be sorry."

I was already sore … sorry … coordinating the movement was monumental. Every minute gesture was searing agony. I swore I could feel muscle fibers disconnecting with every flinch. But under his watchful eye I knew it would only get worse for me if I didn't at least try. My hand hovered, just above the lower step.

I hesitated outside of that stinking cage … so close to being free.

"Don't even consider it. If you can't stand, you can't outrun me. Get in there. Now. Before my patience wears out."

Fingers grasped the wood plank and I dragged myself on my belly. Halfway up, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion. He snatched my arm and flung me the rest of the way in, slamming the door behind.

Hours later, my shrouded cage bucked along every rut on the road. I clung to my blanket that smelled as though Javert had taken it from a grave. Unable to find any comfort in the jostling ride I had fallen into a fitful sleep only to wake alarmed by an urgent need to relieve myself.

In a panic, I fought to get stiff limbs to cooperate enough to drag my body to the edge. But all I managed was a shuddering flop that culminated in a warm sensation spreading between my legs. Ashamed, I buried my face in the soiled blanket and wept.

The wagon pitched me back and forth. The immense scab that was my back cracked open like parched earth. Hunched over the reeking pile of cloth, I dared not try and straighten out. Oh God, just let me close my eyes and die now. I did not want any more of this wretched existence.

The humiliation did not end there. Not long after the wagon's jostling stilled, Javert flung the shroud back and peered in at my huddled body. "Heh, you still breathe. Good."

He unlocked the door. Gripping my hair he pulled me up and inspected his work in the shaft of light. "You'll heal and maybe this time you will remember the lesson."

Dropping me on the floor, he glanced at the open door. I did nothing to move in that direction, holding my arms close to my chest. Minutes passed before a satisfied smile crossed his face.

"Eat." He dropped a plate of food scraps before me, frowning as I slunk back away from the loud noise. I refused to move. Leaning over me, he remarked snidely, "If you don't eat how will you put flesh back on those bones? Now eat, or I will force you! You remember how that works? Or are you too stupid to recall?"

My stomach churned at the thought of the rancid food being rammed down my throat by his savage hands. All I wanted to do was lie here on the floor and die. The crop of the whip struck my hand.

Immediately I grasped the plate and tugged it over. Without interest I picked at the contents and began to gnaw, forcing each swallow.

This man was repulsive. The fact that his disgusting tactics were succeeding in goading me was even more so. This fetid cage, the soiled rags hanging on my body, the rotten food he forced me to eat … on that distant day I swore soon I would become the name he had bestowed, only without the living part.


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

By early afternoon I had succumbed to a state of vague indifference. With my cloak hanging haphazardly from my shoulder, I shuffled out onto the street with my violin clutched in my hands. The fact that I was even capable of holding myself vertical was a minor miracle. I had to play. The opium hadn't banished the nightmares … she had to raise her voice with the other violin. She needed to sing and to do that she needed my fingers. In the distance I heard the lonely siren call. Blanjini's violin lured me. Even before I reached his side my bow was already in motion, vibrating the strings of my Stradivarius.

Shambling up beside him I said nothing, letting my violin join his in the airy little tune he'd been playing. The swirling musical currents eddied as I lay back, letting the pillar take all my weight. He repeated the tune an untold number of times with subtle variations. My bow followed suit, lazily drifting in the chords.

Lapsing into silence, he paused for several minutes before speaking. "Nightingale, I was worried that you did not come earlier. Now that I hear you … I wonder if you are here at all."

My eyes took forever to blink as his words penetrated the fog. Leaning against the iron my head was bowed, resting on my violin. Slowly I inhaled and exhaled, still drifting in the music we had been playing.

His hand reached out finding my crooked knee. "Something is bothering you for you never sit until after we have played. It is always when we first speak of literature." In the span of a few breaths, his blind eyes seemed to search me. "It makes me wonder, all this time … what are you seeking to escape from in those words we exchange?"

Running a hand through my hair I heaved a long sigh. "Play something, anything. I do not care the origin of the piece. Just do not ask me what is on my mind."

The hand remained. "What is that I hear in your voice? Tell me what would shame the bold nightingale."

Painstakingly I reached down and unwrapped the fingers of his hand, placing it back on his lap firmly. "You would not understand and I am hardly wishing to speak of it. Just play something."

Silence. Like a statue he remained waiting, only the rise and fall of his chest revealing that he was flesh and blood.

Twisting towards him I begged, "Please, just trust me! I need to escape in the music!"

He shook his head. "No. There is more in your voice than just a possession that music can exorcise. Never have I heard a voice so labored. I will not play until you explain why you came so late and so heavily drowning in your sorrow." With that he set his violin across his lap, folding his hands on the strings.

My hands tightened on the neck of my own violin as he denied me the escape I knew I needed. Not a word was spoken. Not a note was played as we sat side by side.

"In case you are wondering," he broke the silence, "I am willing to wait all day."

Cursing aloud, I laid my head back against the rusted iron. "Fine! You want to know you nosy old blind man! Fine! I was out here earlier waiting for you at dawn when a rather insolent man came up and offered me a job."

"Oh?" He turned his head slightly towards me. "That doesn't sound like anything too upsetting."

I snuffed out a breath, fighting to release my fingers from the death grip on my violin. "It was one of those charlatans who run the museums of oddities. Always happens. Why do they look, why do they stare? Is not the music enough?"

Sagely he nodded, the milky orbs drifting about, groping in his darkened view of the world. "I see. Then it is true what I have heard."

He knew? How did he know? I reached up a hand brushing against my mask. To my astonishment he reached and pulled my hand away settling it firmly upon my knee.

"They speak when we play, but quiet whispers in the crowd." He shrugged. "I had heard it mentioned more than once that you wore something peculiar."

"You did not wonder … wonder why?"

"To a blind man what would it matter?" Rubbing his hands together he closed his eyes and let his soft voice carry beneath the bustling crowd. "In truth, Nightingale, it should not matter to anyone. Least of all, you. The music, her voice, that is what you want them to hear. That is why your music rings with such sorrow. Your heart is too heavy to remember how to fly. Someone has crippled your wings a great many years ago and you believed you would be bound to this earth forevermore. It is unfortunate that you have allowed that idea to hold power over you." A single finger flicked to the Stradivarius. "You are one of the most extraordinary musicians I have met in my life. Music is an auditory gift, not a visual one." Nodding his head he spoke an old Yiddish proverb. " _A sach mentshen zehen, nor vainik fun zai farshtai'en._ "

I could tell my mind was still crippled by the fog, the rapid switch of dialects took a considerable amount of thought before I could translate it: _Many people see things, but few understand them._

Lifting a shoulder, he let it fall without pause. "What does it matter?"

All I could do was mull over his words before I made a tentative reply. "It matters because … there is no beauty beneath."

The light stab of his bow to the center of my chest snapped me to attention. "That is the biggest lie I have heard in all my long years upon this earth!" Once more he slid into Yiddish, " _An einredenish iz erger vi a krenk_." It took my fogged brain a moment to find the wisdom in those ancient words: _An imaginary illness is worse than a real one._ "How heartsick you are to retch up such drivel! Anyone who says that and means it has no real grasp of what true beauty embodies. I have heard your beauty and it shines with greater perfection than any painter's masterpiece. There is a reason that you hold a Stradivarius in your hands. There is a reason she begs for your music to pour through her. Nightingale, you are right, you do need to escape in your music … but in doing so you bring others with you." A wistful smile grew on his face. "Tell me, what does she wish to sing … let us find the avenue of escape together."

Wordlessly I let the bow draw the notes out. Closing my eyes I drifted into the music with Blanjini's violin underscoring the movements. In my fogged thoughts, I could not recall what the name of the piece was or even the composer. It did not matter … I let the notes fly softly at first, gradually embracing the blissful strain. Somehow I rose to my feet, swaying into the music, desiring for that piece to banish from within the dreadful darkness that threatened me so. I wanted to linger here forever. To never return to earth from this melodic high. Yet, I knew it could not last.

Lowering my violin, I opened my eyes to see a very familiar face staring in agog fascination. Nadir was just off to my right in the midst of the applauding crowd. Visibly he was struggling with what he saw. It was no more than a flick of my eyes and I saw him lower his gaze in compliance. With relief I offered a tense bow. Good, he would not make a scene for me here. Here we did not know one another. Later I knew he would require an explanation.

The explanation was demanded the moment I shut the door to the apartment hours later, dropping the small leather bag of coins on the table without ceremony. I stripped the cloak from my shoulders and hung it sheepishly on the hook even as Nadir rambled on phrases I could have predicted nearly word for word.

"All this time you have been doing this? Dear Allah! Erik, I thought you told me you abhorred the very idea of exhibitioning yourself again. You lead me to believe you were stealing and instead you were playing your violin? This? This is where the coins were coming from?" He inhaled deeply for the next portion of his lecture which caused him to turn his head curiously. Crossing to the bedroom, he pushed open the door before reeling backward. "Gah! It reeks of opium in there! How are you still standing?"

Settling myself in the window, I gazed idly down at the Bowery. I replied in a voice hardly above a whisper. "Does it matter? Somehow I am … and even that knowledge is beyond me. The coins … the coins fell into my hands and I saw a way. That was all that mattered. A way to live for now. A sacrifice, yes. But she wants to sing, she was tired of being alone. She wanted to sing and I have to let her. I have to let her sing."

His hand came to rest on my shoulder, the edge banished from his voice. "Erik, you aren't making sense. She who? Surely you don't mean Christine."

Somberly I shook my head, the numbness from the opium still pervading enough to steel me against the pain of her name. In answer to his question my eyes drifted to the Stradivarius. Well over a minute ticked by before I drew in a deep breath. "You are afraid I will fall again. I can tell you fear that this will only end in disaster … I am not convinced that is so. It pains me to say it but, maybe I was wrong."

His hand jerked up from my shoulder as he took a step backwards, studying me in abject shock. "Excuse me … did I hear you say … "

I glanced up, swallowing sheepishly. "That I admitted I may have been wrong? Yes. You did."

"About what?" He took a cautious step in my direction.

The sun was beginning to set behind our building. The Bowery cast in the shadows was coming alive as I studied the figures below. Tomorrow was Saturday. Every week I had avoided the bustling commotion, the music and general gaiety that pervaded the street until well into the early morning hours. I had found it to be an absolute disturbance. Gazing at my violin nestled in her case, I knew now that my perspective from up here had denied me an experience. Tomorrow evening … when the sun began to set, I would answer Blanjini's siren call.


	15. Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15**_

 _ **~Saturday Night in the Bowery~**_

The evening sun tinted the ward in a reddish glow as the lamplighters coaxed their flames to life amidst palpable anticipation. A change came over the crowd mingling and gathering between the carts. Gone was the harried worker trudging through the market taunted by that which he could not afford. He had been replaced by a man with a week's worth of wages jingling in his pocket, eager for a little respite from the daily grind. Standing in the doorways or hovering over their carts, merchants rubbed their hands together in the growing chill, a hunger in their eyes as they watched the neighborhood twitching to life. It may have been just a typical evening, but it was **Saturday—** a night of pleasure for the tenement. It attracted many to the streets where human vices were as numerous as the stars in the heavens.

This was the time of indulgence!

Stepping out into the crisp breeze, Chastity adjusted the knitted shawl across her shoulders. The air around her was awash in a vast array of aromas so strong they banished the reek of the tenement. The grain scent of ales wafted out from the numerous taverns, as men carried out foam-topped tankards, spilling golden liquid on their shoes as they jostled eachother good-naturedly. The aroma of cooking food drifted and mingled in a tantalizing mixture. She pondered what treat she would permit herself on this night, for the week had been good with enough coins left for a little indulgence. For once she could enjoy the evening without feeling compelled to hawk her services. A night of possibilities, of festivities, of life.

Along the edges of the street, the musicians were already gathering like a gaggle of geese attempting to form an orchestra. Dressed in a strange assortment of ethnic garb, they cradled instruments from their homelands, chatting in a cacophony of dialects that often resulted in nothing more than confusion. Fiddles, whistles, horns, drums from various lands which only the most traveled of musicians might be able to name, comprised the ragtag band without a conductor.

Almost without a conductor … for at the heart of the musicians with his head bowed sat Blanjini, his violin laid across his lap. His sightless somber gaze locked on his folded hands. He said not a word as the crowd gathered around him. At his side, a barefoot boy stood. His watchful eyes locked up at the sky positively, shaking in the chill of the evening breeze. Minutes passed as the sky darkened into indigo. A smile tugged at the boy's lips as a single star winked in the growing darkness.

"One," he whispered in Yiddish.

A fraction of a minute later, another winked into existence beside it.

"Two!" The twitching of his limbs increased as he squinted, leaning forward and using a hand to block the streetlamps. He froze, waiting … waiting … until a third blinked its heavenly eye. "Three!"

At that precise moment, Blanjini's violin rose her voice to the cheer of the crowd. Instantly joined by the multitude of musicians, they engaged in a joyous folk tune familiar to the Romanian villages. The musicians who knew the piece, carried the rapid melody from his lead. Those who did not simply provided an improvised undercurrent. The drive of the festive music lifted heavy hearts, temporarily freeing them from their burdens. What began as the tapping of a foot, the snap of a finger, the clapping of hands progressed to joyous dancing. At the heart of the gathered band, Blanjini sat against the iron pillar smiling wistfully as visions of the dancers worked their magic in his mind, carrying him home in vivid memories to the village of his birth.

When he had repeated the song for the third time, he altered the selection to another frequently played folk tune, the bow striking the strings in rapid short strokes. Around him, without the need for words, the musicians followed, comprehending the shift in a language all its own—music. Sawing up to the high crescendo, he let it hang in the air and was about to plunge into the next section when another violin, a familiar partner, cast her spell into the mix.

For a long moment only two instruments dominated the night … Blanjini's violin and the Stradivarius. Even the voices of the crowd had fallen into stunned silence. All eyes cast toward the cloaked figure wading through the crowd. An ill-fitting faded wool henley hung off his frame. The sleeves were rolled back to his elbows, exposing the pale, thin limbs. Each gesture of the bow revealed the precise contraction of the muscles beneath. A gray vest failed in its attempt to pull in the bulk of the shirt. His shaggy hair, black and tarnished with silver, was tied at the nape of his neck with a piece of humble twine. Through the dingy white mask his blue eye gleamed in the lamplight as he passed. The Romany violinist carefully edged himself up onto his feet still holding the circling chord.

Blanjini offered a slow nod. "Welcome, Nightingale. I knew it would only be a matter a time before the music would lure you here."

Respectfully, Erik offered the blind violinist a half bow while still holding the chord in his delicate grasp. There was a faint smile playing on his lower lip. "It was not the music." He replied in fluent Romanian. "It was the words of the man behind it. Besides, she wants to sing, who am I to deny her that privilege?"

" _She_ wishes to sing does she? Let us see how many songs she knows." Laughing, Blanjini stood as tall as his aged body would permit. "As the lady is making many friends this evening, would she like to lead?"

Erik's bow retained the suspended chord. "It would be rude to do so, I am but a guest here."

"We shall see. By the time this night is over we shall see, Nightingale!" With a knowing nod he launched into the next section and found Erik's violin matching him in exquisite harmony.

All around, the excited cries of the crowd echoed, "It is! It's the Bowery Nightingale!" For never before this night had he been seen or heard **here**. They knew of his fame in the hours of the morning and the small hours of the afternoon. But never outside of those. Bathed in the flickering gas lights of the Bowery, he moved with a languid elegance. His mismatched eyes closed off the rest of the world as he raced through the fiddle tunes that Blanjini's fingers lead.

Pulling the scarf tighter about his neck to keep out the chill, Nadir could hardly believe his ears or his eyes. Lingering on the edge of the crowd he bore witness to unparalleled splendor as the music colored the night. In the months they had lived in the tenement he had listened intently to the melodies drifting up. He had tried many times to coax his reclusive friend down into the market, knowing the profound effect music held over him. But each and every week he had been met with the same excuse … he could not stand before another and perform ever again. Broodingly, Erik had sat at his desk scratching away at some drawing while his foot tapped against the floor in clear betrayal of his true interest. That was why discovering Erik's activity the other day had been astonishing. Why the very idea of the violin being the mysterious source of income was so far from the realm of possibility as to be ludicrous. And yet … there he was. Surrounded by the musicians, Erik was drifting on the melodic tide, his limbs at first stiff as he held his body to its full height. But before the first set had even ended the transformation was already beginning … the fluid grace restoring the true confidence this enigmatic man once possessed before shame had systematically begun to strip it away.

Still enamored by the sight, Nadir was startled when a tankard was held out to him accompanied by a phase he had never heard before. Mutely he accepted the strong smelling ale to a clap on the shoulder as the man grinned and gestured toward a tavern. "Welcome!" he blurted in accented English.

Uncertain, Nadir took a sniff of the amber colored fluid. It was indeed some form of alcoholic drink. In the steamer's cargo hold where they had smuggled themselves into America Erik had introduced him to the warming effects that alcohol. Even against his religion's decree forbidding such indulgences, he succumbed to his friend's reasoning. Well, Erik **had** bluntly stated that Allah would be rather cruel if he did not allow a man to save himself from freezing to death with the means grasped in his hands. The first sip of stolen whiskey sealed him to the vice, religious decree or not. He cast an unseen smirk at Erik, as he pondered what a bad influence this infidel had been on him. Shaking his head and taking an experimental sip. Not bad, in fact he found a decent flavor to the mixture. Gazing at the tankard, he looked around wondering how he might learn what in fact it was he was drinking. Snippets of so many different languages collided in the crowd. For a moment he considered approaching Erik. However, when he glanced he found his friend had managed to perch up in the reaches of the iron cross beams. Confidently, Erik was leaning back playing some Asiatic influenced piece with such mirth written in his gestures that Nadir didn't have the heart to bring him down from that height.

Drifting through the crowd, he gradually drained the tankard. A pleasant warmth washed over him. Colors swirled as the residents of the Bowery cavorted about. He observed drinking, dancing, gambling, people playing an array of skilled games. Smoke rose into the air from hand rolled tobacco. There were children of all ages everywhere darting barefoot through the street, coins clutched in their eager hands as they jostled for a game of chance under a hawker. To his astonishment, Nadir began to realize how few of the residents around him were speaking fluently to one another and yet somehow they were getting their point across through words and gestures. He longed to know what each truly meant. So many languages. How he wished to have Erik's ease of comprehension … To have a moment to be as he. In this whirlwind of scattered tongues, that man would never be lost!

Another mug found its way into Nadir's hand, this one with a clearer liquid. The man gestured toward a tavern and smiled. Taking an experimental sip, he found it burned when it went down his throat. When he looked back over at the musicians he spied Erik reaching down to a tankard offered to his hand.

Erik was indeed surprised. The moment they had reached the end of the set a group, of men emerged from the nearby tavern bearing tankards brimming with ale. A red haired lad had halfway climbed up and offered in Gaelic, "We have no coin to offer you. But the music brings the patrons who stay longer this night. So Da says this is on the house as a thank you!"

Taking the offered drink alongside the rest of the musicians, Erik followed the boy's hand as he pointed to one of the nearby taverns. Raising the tankard high, he declared in Gaelic, "A blessing to a generous one as he, for the eve bears a chill that this gift chases away!"

In one smooth motion, Erik tipped the mug and proceeded to swallow the entire portion. Not wished to be burdened with the mug, he returned the tankard to the boy as he lazily watched Nadir drifting below his perch. Letting his leg hang down from the crossbeam, he plucked the strings of the violin in a strange improvised ditty. Soon other musicians joined in and the piece began to swell into a concoction of so varied a cultural mix as to be undefined. Above the foundation of the Asian hand drums, Irish whistles wove in and out of the backbone of the melody plucked and strummed on strings from India and Spain. Even the graying oriental man with his bamboo flute joined in the exotic mixture. It all blended to one as Nadir stood beside Blanjini. the violinist leaned back hugging his instrument to his chest as he just listened.

Another mug found itself into Nadir's hand. The greeting came to him in Russian to his delight! Granted, his Russian was not the most fluent of languages, and Erik had often berated him for the accented pronunciation, but he understood! Turning to the man he replied, "Thank you! What is this?"

"Gratitude, the liquor of life!" He threw his arms around the Persian. "We share this night in what it means to have survived another week. So we shall again, if we see it next week. Drink! Drink!"

As the man left, Nadir scratched his head, continuing in Russian, "Is this what they have been doing every week down here?"

Lifting his head, Blanjini replied in stilted Russian, "Of course. For we never know when it will be our last. As they say in my old country, _Es iz besser tsu leben in naches aider tsu shtarben in tsar._ "

Nadir cocked his head at the strange words. He realized immediately that the man was blind. "Pardon me … but I … I didn't catch the meaning."

Blanjini laughed heartily. "You sound so strange, my friend. Like me, Russian is clearly not the tongue of your birth. Nor is Yiddish. Forgive an old man … to us it means, _It is better to live in joy than to die in sorrow._ And so we dance!"

"I have heard that tongue before, I think." Hesitantly Nadir tried to dredge up the words he had heard spoken that sounded similar to his Persian ears. "Yes, some men at the work line looked at me and more than once said something like _Es hot zikh oysgelohzen a boydem._ "

To this the violinist began to chortle. "Oh, well now, I am not so certain you wish to really know what that means."

Curious now, Nadir pressed, "But I would like to know what was said to me."

"Heh. Very well, just remember these words were not spoken by me. It is indeed Yiddish and means, _There's nothing up there but a small attic._ "

Unsure he had understood the colorful metaphor in this nonnative tongue, Nadir pensively cleared his throat, "Meaning … "

Blanjini shrugged, "You're an idiot."

Above them, Erik had ceased to play as he watched the color rising on the Persian's features. Nadir's mouth flapped at the insult he had missed. Amused, Erik called out to him, "And now you know why I obsessed over learning languages. Why didn't you ask me what that meant?"

Grumbling a bit to himself, he shot Erik an annoyed glare. "First, I had no idea what language that was, secondly I didn't know you knew … uhh … what was that … Giddish?"

"Yiddish," he corrected with a grin before flicking his bow in the air. "You never asked me if I had picked that up, did you." Another man handed a short mug up to Erik in his precarious perch. He graciously took it and downed it in a series of gulps before returning the empty mug. He offered Nadir a wink and then muttered. " _Ale glider viln redn un di tsung aleyn shtelt men aroys_."

Turning his blind gaze up at Erik, Blanjini nodded approvingly. "Very good! Where did you hear that one?"

"A small village, I suppose it was close to Romania. Needless to say I was quite amused." Out of the corner of his eye, Erik was watching Nadir seething at being left out of the conversation. After making him wait sufficiently enough, he relented while his fingers plucked a few chords. "Look around you, Nadir. Do not just get frustrated at not knowing the words they speak … " Then he translated with a sly grin, " _Every limb wants to speak but the tongue alone does the talking._ "

"Blanjini, come come, it is time to dance!" A group of young men dressed similarly to him pulled him to his feet, guiding him as another fiddler put his bow to the strings. A circle was forming in the middle of the street as the traditional dance piece leapt into the air. He beamed as the music became a frenzy, a flurry of limbs, as he danced from memory in the grasping hands of the others.

Inclining his chin from his perch, Erik chuckled, a slight slur invading his normally crisp speech. "The body says so much more than any word the tongue may speak. If you watch closely, the tongue need not tell you what is intended. Gesture conveys true meaning."

As Nadir glanced up at his friend he noted how much Erik was allowing his weight to sink into the embrace of the cross beams. It was such a rare site … ease. Something so completely foreign to this haunted man.

The song twisted and turned and came about onto itself. Nadir found the Stradivarius unexpectedly thrust into his hands as Erik vaulted down into the circle. They parted embracing his hand. The other was seized by Blanjini. Round and round the circle spun, every dancer abandoning themselves to the will of the music. No one looked out of place regardless of how well they timed the spin or the kick. Even Erik with the black cloak trailing behind him, melded into the joyous melee, executing the pattern with a rapid grace as he mimicked the traditional folk dancing … a pale skeleton of a man throwing himself completely into the arms of a borrowed culture. For that moment … he belonged.

When it had ended, Erik's hand guided Blanjini while they both fought to catch their breath. Taking up their respective violins in hand, they gulping down an offered drink with the other. No words were spoken as they both shut their eyes and laid their heads back against the rusted metal momentarily lost in some other world.

Hours of music commenced, Erik and Blanjini trading the lead and weaving in influences from various sources. In the mixture of it all, Nadir found himself drawn into the dancing. Turning in the whirl, a shawl snaked around the back of his neck. He spun to find himself face to face with Chastity! She smiled at him, offering her hands, "Dance with me."

Dumbstruck, Nadir released the empty tankard from his hand and awkwardly grasped her fingers. She was so warm from dancing, her gaze so charming. But he found himself troubled attempting to follow how she moved. He was like a small boy five steps behind an instructor and the alcohol was not helping any.

"It's alright." She simplified the steps. "Just feel it, that's all. There isn't a wrong way to dance. You're trying too hard … there … yes, now you have it!"

The world spun around him as he laughed, conforming to the chaotic convulsions of the wild music. This was like nothing he had ever known before! Not the rigid order of the courts of Persia. Nor the cold formal presentation he had conformed to in the aristocratic society of Paris. This raw passionate flame burning in the streets brought him face to face with just how long he had been upon this earth, restricting himself from living. Oh to feel this all the time! To revel in the joys of life, devoid of hunger and pain and sorrow. Dancing in the arms of this woman, all his expectations dissolved.

Above the wild throws of the violin playing a Romany piece, a voice rang out. A silken tenor voice thrust into the night air with great abandon. Nadir was only dimly aware of this when Chastity stopped dancing, her eyes focused on the distant figure with his head thrown back, releasing the old Romany into the heavens in duet with his violin. Bespelled by that voice, she was not the only one. The Bowery stood entranced by this rare beauty.

Swaying heavily under the influence of all the alcohol that he had consumed, Erik's eyes shut out the world as he re-awaked the suppressed legend. The words were strange to many, only those privy to the tongue knew the full intent. But the emotion came across in his angelic voice as it rose in the night. The wind carried his song beyond the boundaries of the ward … quivering notes defying the dark of the night, brightening the world. Banishing the harsh reality they would all face on the morrow … when the dawn rose in the Bowery.


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

 **~Erik~**

I cracked my eyes open and nothing seemed to change, only the unfocused outlines of something. It was dark. Everything was dark and there wasn't enough information to orient myself. A strange feeling akin to floating in a still body of water pervaded my senses. But without the sensation of direction I had no idea which way was up.

Lifting my head, I felt the muscles of my neck engage a moment before my face collided with something hard. An explosion of bright little stars blinded my world as my head was locked in a vice, some unseen force mercilessly turning the screw. I heard a low moan … sluggishly I realized its origin—me. How had I ended up in a torture chamber? Who had administered a concussion? Wait, was I shackled?

Shifting my limbs, I felt an aching pull but they responded. I had no idea of what spasmodic motion they carried out but they did not seem to be restricted. Another odd sensation drifted into my consciousness, a vague tugging rather like gravity playing with a poorly balanced object. Was I … was I falling? Sliding off something? I made a vague shift of my arm only to find the sensation growing at an alarming rate. Unable to tell up from down, the shift of my off-kilter world scrambled my wits a moment before whatever had been beneath me ... whichever way that was ... lost the friction to hold me in place.

"Ooof!" Another explosion of stars flashed in my world as I landed heavily on my right shoulder, wedged between something … two somethings. The vice compacting my head tightened excruciatingly as I lay suspended in what felt like an awkward resemblance of the hanged man of a tarot card. Only my body wasn't hanging by a leg, rather I was wedged upside down in something box-like. Everything was darker now, muffled by a barrier.

What the hell? This angle was only making my head feel worse. I had to extract myself from this blinding prison. With a thrash, I attempted to kick my feet back under me, colliding with something soft. The moment the muscles in my core, tightened the contents of my stomach sloshed audibly. The resulting nauseous wave brought forth a sensation like a horde of rats clawing their way through a burlap sack. I was forced to still my efforts under the onslaught A sickening belch erupted leaving behind the most indescribable taste.

Lying as still as I could I inhaled the pungent air of unwashed bodies mixed with stale opium. My fingers brushed against some kind of fabric tented over me. I think I had some vague idea of which direction was up. Not that it did me any good. Everything ached.

Dimly I became aware of a sluggish voice. It was muttering out some prayer. A mangled plea to Allah for mercy.

It took me a few breaths to quiet my stomach enough to dare a tentative word. "Nadir?"

Silence, save for the rasped breathing in the darkness. "Erik … is that you?" A loud moan concluded his exchange. If I had my bearings straight … a little doubtful … he was somewhere above and behind me.

"Yes." I made the mistake of engaging a muscle in my gut, leaving me to concentrate very hard on keeping the threat at bay of discovering what I had last consumed.

"Erik … where are we?"

When the turbulence subsided enough I rasped out, "I have no idea." That lack of knowledge was enough to drive my hand towards the hard surface in front of me. Threading my fingers through the cloth I was gradually realizing was my cloak draping down from above, I pressed my hand against the firm surface. Paint flecks crumbled. Lifting the corner of the cloak, a faint light revealed the outline of a door. "Oh … a wall." Shifting my back, I felt what seemed to be the bed frame. I must be wedged on my shoulder in-between with my feet up in the air. My cloak dangled over me like a tent. Squinting out through the door into the dim light, I noted the familiar outlines of the cobbled together desk and the coal stove in the far corner. "Our wall. I think we are in the bedroom. Nadir … are you on the bed?"

His answer took a while, precluded by a series of soft thumps. "Maybe?" He croaked, "what did we do?"

Slowly trying to right myself, I dragged my body forward, wincing each time the angle of my head changed. "I do not know about you, but I think I drank kerosene last night."

After a very long pause, he muttered, "I'm not even going to ask how you know what that would taste like."

Placing my arm on the edge of the bed I started to pull myself up extremely slowly. It was a fight to keep my head still enough not to induce a wave of crippling nausea.

"What … what time is it?" Nadir panted out as I clung to the edge of the bed, blurrily observing his outline lying spread eagle.

"I have no idea." At least my knees were underneath me. The ache in my head wasn't unbearable if I kept fairly still. I was about to reach down to see if by some miracle the vest I had on contained my pocketwatch when a searing ray of light shot into the room directly into my eyes! Frantically I scrambled against the onslaught, my hands grasping the mask and pulling it down to cover my eyes. My foot lashed out sideways, catching the door on its squealing hinges. The blazing light beyond faded, only a small threatening beam remained as I grasped my head with one hand and my roiling belly with the other. " … dawn … " I whimpered.

Hunched over, shaking from the effort to suppress the disquieting sensation in my core, my aching head began to gradually form a conclusion. "Nadir … " I ventured to breathe out. "I think we got drunk last night."

A pained moaning filled the air followed by a series of gulped breaths. "Drunk? How?"

"Good question." I panted, using the edge of the bed to steady myself. "Not a memory remains of how … but it is the only explanation that makes sense." There was no rebuke, no reply. Just the rasp of his desperate gulps for air in the stifling darkness. "We need to get some fresher air." I demanded that my legs obey me despite how they protested to execute any action of use. Employing the blanket, which Nadir's body weight held firmly in place, I wrenched myself to my feet feeling my gut threatening once more to prove to me my folly. "Can you get up?"

His movement looked like a freshly caught fish laid upon the shore, a nonproductive flop. Once more he issued a pitiful moan.

This was one time where I could be ever so slightly grateful for the small mattress. It did not take too much coordination to drag myself around to his side. "Come on, if we lean against one another we can make it out to the window."

Nadir's moaning contained more than a few colorful Persian curses, a few directed at me, in the process of extracting him from the bed. The moment he was upright he belched out a noxious plume of gas, sufficient to result in me holding my breath and swallowing the protestations of my own gut. Nothing sensible left his lips as we shambled to the door.

"Shut your eyes. This is going to be bright." Using my toe I pulled open the door, wincing and hissing as the light poured in. The crushing pain in my head increased ten-fold … but the fresher air washing in through the open window was a balm against the churning in my stomach. Pain I could deal with. I was unwilling to suffer the indignity of vomiting. Stealing glimpses of the room enough to avoid tripping over something, I shuffled toward the window with Nadir struggling to drag his feet alongside.

Taking a quick glance up at him, the humor of the situation struck me. "Never thought I would say this … but your face matches your eyes." He could have been a statue carved in solid jade.

Cracking a bloodshot eye, open he shot back in a low mutter. "You look like death warmed over."

"Come now, that is hardly a change." Reaching the window, I helped his hands grasp it and we both just leaned there with eyes half lidded, gulping in the crisp air. The torture of my head began to subside a little as the fire within my belly quieted the protestations to tolerable. If I could keep it in check long enough, I might survive this with my dignity intact.

Nadir, however, was far less fortunate. Doubling over, his body convulsed as a panic welled in his eyes. A moment later a wet retching precluded a spout of pure liquid vomit, launching it in an impressive arc out into the street below just barely missing a passer-by. Out of true concern, I grasped his shoulder to make sure he didn't fall as he leaned out the window, racked by the spasms. Shuddering, he sunk to the floor, rolling so his back leaned against the wall. He sucked in the air between desperate moans.

To my shame, I needed the aid of the wall as I knocked the lid from the water barrel, filling two mugs from it. In a series of shambling steps I made it back to his side and slid down to the floor, my own stomach audibly threatening to do an encore to his already impressive performance. Oh no, that is not going to happen. Shutting my eyes I waited out the storm before handing one of the mugs to Nadir.

"No … " He gasped, his miserable eyes shrinking away from the sight in his hands. "Clearly I drank enough. No more drink."

"Only water." I replied, swallowing my own apprehension. "We are dehydrated … that is where the pain and disorientation comes from after drinking. You need it."

Cautiously he lifted the mug as he watched me take a deep gulp from my own. It went down, but not happily. I was forced to clench my eyes to keep from retching. Lying back against the wall, I just concentrated on breathing slow and steady. If I was careful enough the vice on my head relaxed the pressure and my gut only mildly protested.

I would live through this … but it still troubled me that I had somehow managed to consume so much alcohol as to prevent the memories from taking hold. I usually remembered everything! But not last night.

"Erik?" Nadir's breathing was a little less desperate now that his belly had voided itself. "How long does this last?"

My fingers drew an idle circle on the rim of my mug. "I am hardly an expert having experienced this state only once."

He shifted against the wall, his eyes studying my silhouette. "You? Drunk? When? I don't remember that. Truly not in Persia … "

"That would have given my various enemies too much of an advantage." I rubbed my temples against the headache, trying to will it away. "No. It was several years before you and I met."

His curious gaze only intensified. "Where? When?"

I started to roll my eyes before discovering the gesture exacerbated the pain. "Italy. When I was an apprentice to a master stone mason. He offered me so much wine I nearly fell down the stairs to my refuge in his cellar. I do not think he intended for me to break my neck but he sure as hell made certain I was too incapacitated to flee."

"Flee?" He took a deep drink of water mulling over my words. "Flee from what?"

My head hung a little lower as I murmured, "I had failed him. I had planned on leaving before he demanded me to go. It seemed like the only option as I knew he had found out about the man I had stabbed on the work site in his absence. I was supposed to be in control, supposed to be overseeing his building for him. But then the threat got the better of me. I had lashed out and revealed my true nature. Worse was the thought of my mentor rejecting me, casting me off like I deserved … but, he didn't."

"You mean to say your mentor rewarded your actions by getting you plastered?"

My gaze drifted to the Persian. A short laugh escaped me before I could regret it. I had to swallow the nausea before being permitted to speak. "You are learning far too many colloquialisms these days. My master was a great man and I do not even pretend to understand what he was thinking that night. But he was wise enough not to have tried to confine me by force. Instead he offered me hospitality … like a gentlemen. I never understood … "

An image flashed in my memory, recent … perhaps from last night. A young red-haired boy climbing and offering me a tankard of something. Hospitality. The word troubled me for a moment as I cast my eyes around the cluttered contents of our apartment. In here was what we needed to survive and very little more. The only niceties were my violin lying in her case and the short stack of dress clothes on a shelf. Dress clothes with missing buttons, ragged seams and pulled threads in the fabric. There was no means to offer anyone anything save a quick nip from Nadir's whiskey bottle. A little heat rose within me as I recalled all those parlors I had been made to stand in recently … the crystal decanters with their fine set of glasses never once offered … to me.

Nadir shifted, shutting his eyes tightly as he mumbled. "This is the dumbest thing I have done in my life."

"Close." I sighed, offering him a small shrug as he dared an inquisitive glance my way. "The dumbest thing you ever did was befriending me."

His mouth opened about to protest when the shrill whistle of the train drove a spike of auditory torture into both of our skulls! Curling into a ball, I rammed both my hands tightly around my head covering my ears as much as I could. But the building shook with the train's passing, racking my body as I spat out a series of invectives. There was no escaping this torment until the skull-splitting disturbance passed.

Lying sprawled on the floor with my hand on my roiling stomach I spat out, "Seven layers of hell!"

Nadir groaned, rolling onto his side. "Allah have mercy!"

"I do not think Allah gives a bloody damn about your hangover." I muttered, attempting rather unsuccessfully to sit up.

A new voice carried out from the main doorway. "So, you two are still among the living."

A jab of pain halted my first frantic attempt to locate the source. Taking a bit more care, I slowly turned my gaze to find Chastity leaning against the frame with an amused grin on her face. Still pinned to the floor I exhaled and shut my eyes. Great, so much for keeping my dignity intact.

She entered closing the door quietly behind her. "So, which one of you got to see what he drank last night."

I flicked a finger in Nadir's direction even as I heard him moaning. I was surprised when I opened my eyes to find her hovering above me holding a mug in her hands.

"Well, then you need this more than he does."

Bewildered, I did not even try to get up until she reached a hand beneath my shoulder and helped to ease me back against the wall, pressing the mug into my hands. "Drink most of it, give him the rest."

Eyeing the thick liquid I glanced back at her questioningly.

She reached under the mug and pressed it towards my lips. "It will help to settle your stomach. In a shorter span it should help with your head as well. Trust me, these are things one learns from the lips of sleeping men. This remedy for the consuming of too many spirits is tried and true by those in the greatest need of it."

Swallowing a few gulps, I could not readily determine what was inside the mug through the lingering taste of last night's binge. But I was fairly certain I recognized the slight burn of ginger. It went down my throat into my twisting stomach leaving me gasping for air. Even water had agitated it before. Patience, I needed to have patience. She took the remainder from me and offered it to Nadir who cried out after swallowing it, spitting out more Persian pleas for mercy.

Sitting back on her heels, she watched me until I was able glimpse in her direction. "Well, this is surprising. After swilling as much of Willis's rotgut as I saw handed to you, I can't believe it didn't burn a hole straight through your belly. There isn't much weight to you to absorb it either. I should know after dragging you up the stairs."

"Rotgut. Wait … what happened last night?"

The glimmer of amusement in her eyes as she cocked her head was getting annoying. "You don't remember. That much alcohol does tend to make the memories slip away."

Leaning heavily on my elbow, I attempted to free myself from the wall only to be forced back by the throb in my head and the protesting in my limbs.

"Erik." She laughed with restraint, clearly trying not to torture us with too much noise. "You lived last night. For the first time since I saw you arrive here last winter you were out there playing and dancing, drinking everything they handed to you." Pausing she held up a hand, "That is a mistake, by the way. Especially when Willis has been experimenting with that still of his. A few men have been known to drink themselves into a stupor they never woke from when he took the wrong portion from his brew."

The taste in my mouth … like kerosene. I winced as my gut roiled again, the contents inside audibly sloshing as I drew my knees up. No wonder I was so sick! A low moan escaped me as I let my aching head roll back.

"Don't worry, you woke up. That means you will be alright. Of course you are in for a very miserable day. The both of you, by the looks of things."

I took a deep breath and muttered, "This explains why Sunday mornings are so quiet around here. Everyone is unconscious."

Giggling softly into her hands she stood up taking our mugs with her and refilling them from the water barrel. She guided our fingers around them. "Keep drinking, this will pass. If you are lucky, you will be capable of standing again in a few hours. Then next week … well, next week be a little more careful about who you take a mug from when you play."

"Who says there is going to be a next week." I muttered over the rim of the mug. Nadir wasn't doing anything more than taking shaky sips of water, his complexion still an odd greenish hue.

"Oh but you must!" She clasped her hands before her, twisting as she stole a glance at Nadir. "Don't worry, I am always down there Saturday. Just like last night I will make sure you don't pass out in the gutter. I will make sure you get back up here safely. After all the playing and dancing."

"Dancing?" Nadir cocked his head. "Who danced?"

She flashed a grin, "You both did. Erik took part in one of those Yiddish circle dances that always forms at some point during the night. They love to do it, mainly because it means so much to Blanjini. But you Nadir, you and I danced later in the night. Not long before you two nearly staggered blindly into the wall." Her eyes took a curious gleam as she turned to me. "Right about the time that you sang."

My eyes opened far wider than I wished, flooding light in searing beams into my aching brain. Sang? No! No, I could not have gone so far as to have been that foolish! No, truly no!

"Erik." Nadir's bleating cry broke through as I realized unchecked words were rushing out of me. "Pick a language so we can understand you."

Taking a deep breath, I grasped my head and shouted out. "I could not have been such a fool! No, not to have sung … not again! I know better! Oh God, why am I shouting? This is making it worse!" Clutching the hair on my head, I whimpered at the throbbing I had caused.

"Why not?" Her tentative voice broke the troubled silence. "Your voice is astonishing."

"My voice is a poison!" I blurted out. "Now that I have exposed that, the world will once more demand … demand again … and it will spiral out …. they will come and demand … always the way it goes … always … I can never escape the end result! They will know who I am."

Her hand on my arm stilled me. She waited until I opened my eyes again before holding out the mug of cold water. "Don't be silly. Hardly anyone knows you are here because you hardly ever left this room. I only knew you were up here because of … well … the disruptions we caused one another." Her eyes drifted over the apartment and stopped at the stack of my over-worn dress suits. "You are ashamed of something. I can tell you once were rich. Not pretending to be so—you have the manners of someone cultured. How far we fall when there is no one to catch us." Heaving a sigh, she shook her head lost in her thoughts. "Here in the Bowery, no one cares where you are from or who you are. Here we are all in the same struggle to survive, to see the beginning of a new day. There is no returning to what we were forced to leave behind … only the enduring search for the strength to carry onwards when the rest of the world ignores us. Here everyone is … no one."

I shifted my limbs in an attempt to rise but they refused to obey. Casting my shamed gaze to the floor, I gripped my stomach, not because it still roiled, just to give my hands something to do. I wanted to tell her, to deny her statements, but the words were not forthcoming.

"You will feel better soon Erik. Pound on the floor if you need anything." Leaning over she grasped my hand lightly looking intently at the floor. "I have found a way to repay you."

Without another word she stood up. I shut my eyes tightly as she left, opening them to find Nadir's mildly alarmed gaze locked upon me. "Repay you for what?"

Clamping my eyes shut, I rolled away from him not caring what conclusion he might draw. Maybe he wouldn't remember this exchange. However I doubted it. At some point he would force me to explain. For now, for the next few hours we would be as shipwrecked sailors washed up on a shore.


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

 _ **~Saturday Night in the Bowery~**_

Sitting in the window, Erik's hands pressed the bow into the rosin working it along the full length several times in the light of the dying day. It had already been a full week of duets with Blanjini, who thankfully seemed to be unaware of Erik's poor condition Sunday. At least he had not brought it up. It had simply been another week with this slight change, Erik no longer felt compelled to hide his daily activity from Nadir. That was an easy decision after the discovery. The harder one had been whether or not the Bowery Nightingale would emerge for the festivities, a decision he made in stoic silence.

Evening was rapidly approaching, the sight of Erik calmly preparing his violin was enough to thrill Nadir. Maybe things were finally changing for the better.

A soft knock on the door froze Erik's hand in mid-motion. Smoothly he laid the bow and rosin on the shelf, rising to his feet without a sound. A knife materialize in Erik's hand as he creapt toward the door. Hiding the blade in the shadow of his leg, he opened the door wide in one swift pull to reveal an empty hallway.

Glancing around first Erik bent down to pick something bulky up before casting his eyes toward the staircase. Wordlessly, he withdrew from the doorway, shutting the door behind him. In his hands he held a stack of neatly folded clothing. Nadir recognized them immediately. They were the missing suits Erik had turned the apartment upside-down in search of.

Unfolding the top dress jacket, Erik's eyes appraised it thoroughly finding the seams had been repaired in a series of tiny precise stitches that blended in well. The vest below, previously tattered by a number of pulled threads, looked much neater without the stray tails and puckered weaving. They were hardly restored to fine attire, but they had been greatly improved. Folding them neatly, Erik proceeded to carry the stack back to where it had been the last time he had seen it, stating, "well, I can see now this was the reason I could not find these."

In the process of restoring the stack one of his wool tunics slipped from the pile and landed on the floor. Picking it up, Erik was about to refold the faded blue fabric when something gave him pause. Holding it out he studied it and blinked a few times before snatching the back of the baggy shirt he was wearing to tug it off and discard it on the chair. Thrusting his arms into the sleeves of the tunic, Erik pulled it over his head to find that his old garment had been rough tailored. The seams had been brought in on the sleeves and torso to loosely skim his elongated frame. The excess fabric had been trimmed away.

Nadir's eyes widened as he observed how much of an improvement had been made in the garment that Erik had been forced to select for the length of his arms and his height. The dreadful unflattering fit was gone. What remained was a relatively tasteful shirt that hung off his shoulders properly. Reaching into the stack, Nadir pulled out a couple more of the everyday shirts, these too had been reworked. "Did you hire a tailor?"

Pulling a thicker woolen vest over the tunic, Erik shook his head. "Would I have been looking for these had I done so? No. I suspect that last weekend, when we were preoccupied with keeping water down someone borrowed these." Adjusting the shoulder, the hint of a smile played below Erik's leather mask. "It is not the same attention to detail I was accustomed to in Paris. However the fabrics have seen many more days than they should have. Factoring that in, she did a remarkable job."

"Who?"

Tossing the ill-fitting shirt he had been wearing aside, Erik picked up a piece of twine and tied his hair back into a tail. "Chastity."

Scratching his head, Nadir blinked. "Who?"

"The woman who lives a floor below us. Her name is Chastity." Taking up his violin and bow Erik tuned it, fully ignoring the curious expression on Nadir's face.

"You have been busy while I have been in the work lines. How did you learn her name?"

"She told me," he replied idly.

Taking a step towards him, Nadir folded his arms across his chest wanting to believe his ears. "When?"

Flashing him a quick grin, he lowered the violin. "When I was in her apartment." Without another word, he wrapped a scarf about his neck to ward against the growing chill of early October. Snatching the cloak from the peg, he exited the apartment with Nadir on his heels trying to pry more out of him.

Out on the street everyone was already gathering in the wide thoroughfare. With no ceremony, Erik strode directly for the iron column where Blanjini sat with his head bowed, violin across his lap.

"No theatrics this evening?" Blanjini remarked without moving, a slight smile beneath his beard.

With a shrug, Erik leaned against the iron following the gaze of the eager boy perched beside Blanjini. "What is the point? I have been here once already, so it should hardly be a surprise that I have returned."

He released a short laugh. "As you will, bold Nightingale. As you will."

"One." The boy's voice cried out in Yiddish, all eyes waiting.

Soon he cried out again, "Two!" Followed very shortly by, "Three!"

Blanjini and Erik were at the ready, fingers on the chord even as the critical star blinked into view. In tandem they launched into the first piece of the evening. Erik's eyes closed before they finished the first repeat. Lost in the music, his body rapidly abandoned the rigid stance, weaving and flowing through the musicians.

Shifting through the crowd Nadir watched with a grateful smile. It was so amazing to see Erik like this. The true artist within free to express himself to the world. It seemed that for the time being he had found a place where he could relax. The music called to these people, entrancing them in a mild way that acted as a balm. Erik's rare gift enhanced the already rich atmosphere.

When they reached the end of the set, Erik opened his eyes to find a mug filled with clear liquid held out toward him. As a gentlemen it was rude to refuse anything offered in hospitality. However, the memory of last weekend was enough for him to think better of it. He recalled Chastity's mention of Willis's rotgut. The scent from this particular mug brought back the roil in his stomach.

Lifting a hand, Erik gently pushed the mug away from him. "With regret I must refuse this token of appreciation."

The Irishman before him winked, pointing at Erik with a grubby finger. "Heh! Not enough to the Bowery Nightingale. A gust t'would blow you away. This one can't hold his liquor!"

Bowing his head, Erik laughed. "Alcohol numbs the fingers, Lad. I wish to play my best long into the night." Without another word, Erik launched into another piece. Tonight he was going to be much more watchful of how much and what he consumed.

The evening was progressing remarkably well. Nadir settled himself beside the musicians watching as a blissful Erik flitted about in the crowd sawing out tunes on his violin, laughing and smiling as he conversed with other musicians in various tongues. This was a side Nadir had never dreamed Erik would ever possess. Always it seemed that the man had been cocked like a gun ready to fire. His guard never went down, even when he slept! And yet, here he was at pure ease. The Persian wished to see the day when Erik abandoned the hidden blade. Now he dared to believe he just might!

Nadir applauded when the group of musicians reached the end of the fiddlers tune. He laughed merrily as he watched his friend execute a full bow just as a court musician would.

"Nightingale is in full wing this evening." Blanjini's stilted Russian caused him to turn, he was leaning on a long stick, his violin in his left hand. "They love him."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Nadir replied, rubbing his hands together for warmth in the chilly night. "It took forever to get him to leave the apartment, to play for others. He's so difficult to predict sometimes."

Standing still, Blanjini nodded ever so slightly. "How long have you known him?"

"Oh, a good many years now. But even still, he can be rather moody sometimes."

"You do not truly know him." Those blind eyes lowered to the ground. "I trust you are the closest thing to a friend the Nightingale has. By what little he has openly shared I can tell you are all he has here. I fear for the future."

A shiver ran up Nadir's spine as he turned his full attention to the violinist. "Excuse me? What do you mean?"

The reply was soft, barely above a whisper as Blanjini's eyes drifted in the direction of Erik's voice. "He is unknowingly at a crossroads, approaching a point where he must decide. All he sees now is the cliff he has been facing, fighting to climb. The danger comes when he looks down and sees the void below, the fight he has forgotten about. One misstep and his choice is over."

Nadir stared as Erik threw his head back laughing wholeheartedly at some shared joke with a man strumming a guitar. This couldn't be farther from the truth. The violinist was blind. He couldn't see the change in Erik, had not known _the_ Erik of over thirty years ago. "You don't understand. This is the happiest I have ever seen him. The most content. It is a blessing to see him so serene."

"What of the guard he held for so long, sealing him away from the rest of the world? Was that built for a reason?" Blanjini persisted quietly.

Shifting uncomfortably on the corner, Nadir rubbed his elbow as he felt a disquieting sensation in his gut not born from alcohol. He had not been drinking with abandon this evening. "Well … yes ... he had his reasons ... But I don't see … "

Blanjini's voice cut in somberly, there was no semblance of the usual joy on his features. Instead his expression was grim. "Then he will one day see a reason to put it up again. When he does, make sure he doesn't seal himself inside, for there is something lurking there in the darkness. Something he denies to the world of the living."

"I know what haunts him."

"No, you don't." He bowed his head. "There is something you need to understand about nightingales. They are fueled by emotion. It is their lifeblood. A lifeblood which leaves them uniquely vulnerable. For to be able to express so much joy and truly grasp the depth, their hearts have opened themselves to the fire. They cherish freedom because these birds have dared flights to the heavens only to find their wings burned by ambition. Nothing can satiate their desire to reach new heights. That is why I call him Nightingale. Your friend understands what the world does to the human spirit more completely than anyone I have ever known. And he lives in stark denial of that bond. The question is; do you comprehend the full impact of carrying the weight of that revelation. One day soon the great wound that once rendered him earthbound will reopen … do you possess the resolve to staunch it?"

Shivering in the night wind, Nadir swallowed, the question running in circles though his mind. He didn't have an answer.

Blanjini's milky eyes were locked on him as he let go of the stick, letting it rest against him. Laying a hand on Nadir's shoulder, he stated. "If you don't, everything you hold dear about your friend will die. What is left behind … will have forgotten the beauty. Don't let the world slaughter the Nightingale, for it has already begun."

Erik's Stradivarius carried over the cacophony of sound. Nadir watched as those long fingers caressed the elegant song from the strings. He had closed his eyes again as he played, a common enough sight. Everything about Erik portrayed that he was completely at ease, relaxed, a man comfortable. What was this blind violinist sensing? Nadir had to know Erik better! Didn't he?

A whisper penetrated his thoughts. "He is incapable of flying solo."


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

The violins sang masterfully with one another in the crisp mid-October air. Knowing we only had time for one last piece for the evening, I had selected a wonderful piece from Beethoven, the regal _Namensfeier Overture_. Of course we weren't playing the piece outright. It had taken a little bit of creative maneuvering through the horn sections. It was when we reached the marvelous surge in the violin parts towards the end, that Blanjini and I were left enraptured by the full splendor of the piece. Our bows were both in constant motion as the two different parts circled one another in a chase.

Opening my eyes on the last chord, I gave him a full bow. "Once more, it has been an honor, Blanjini."

He smiled up at me, tugging the thick wool scarf tighter against the cold. "Likewise, Nightingale. It was a dream imagining myself in a great concert hall once more. I should tell you, I find that piece rather amusing because of the name."

Stooping down I began to idly divide the coins between us, placing his share directly into his open palm. "You mean the fact that Beethoven's intention for it to be used for the emperor's name day, the very reason for the title? Yet because he was such a perfectionist, he did not feel it was ready on time. Thus it was over a full year later before it premiered at an entirely unrelated event."

"As usual you are privy to my train of thought." He nodded his head. "Perfectionism held him back from the most apropos presentation of his piece."

I scoffed, dropping a handful of nickels into his hand and an equal share into my own. "Perfectionism is an ideal trait for a musician. I find it admirable that Beethoven did not bow to a royal whim and present something he did not feel was ready. Even if it does make the name of his overture a little awkward. It is far better than the silly French title bestowed upon it, _La Chasse_."

His eyebrows raised in amusement as he tucked the coins into a small pouch on his belt. "This, coming from a Frenchman."

I shrugged, rising to my feet with the coins jingling in my hand. "I may have been born in France, but that does not restrict me to any childish notion of loyalty."

He laughed. The laughter triggered a coughing fit that stole his breath, leaving him gasping for air as I laid a hand on his back. The muscle spasms racked him. A strange wet crackle accompanied each paroxysm. I grew more alarmed as his complexion flushed under the strain. When he laid his head back, I stared in horror at the spattering of blood on the hand he had used to cover his mouth.

"No." It was little more than a shocked whisper. "No! How long?"

Too breathless to immediately respond, he shook his head. "Long enough to know … I won't get better. Long enough to … embrace the fate. It get's worse when it is colder."

Consumption. It had to be consumption and somehow all this time, these many weeks comprising nearly two months, I had failed to notice. Or, he had managed to conceal it from me. There were treatments, clean air out in the countryside. Smoke tendrils hung in the air, proof of the polluted inner city. There was no chance of him affording an escape out of here. A blind man suffering from consumption could hardly begin to farm his own land. However, I knew of herbal concoctions capable of easing the inflammation and proven to clear the airways in time. It would only take a bit of tinkering in the lab … the lab in the home I had left back in Paris under the Opera House. My heart sank. If I had all the equipment and access to the plants, I could save his life.

But I didn't have it. Staring at the meager coins in my hand I could only purchase a fraction of what plants I would need.

A muscle spasm of my own rippled through me, the forewarning that the opium was steadily washing out of my system and would need to replaced soon … and I knew my box was empty. The coins in my hand clinked together rapidly, I could not look away from them. If I only had the means. But I was powerless.

His hand embraced mine, forcing my fingers to close around the coins. He had come to his knees, holding my hand now with both of his. "Listen to me, Nightingale. Not all of us have the ability to make it against the odds. Don't squander what you need to survive on a lost cause."

"You are not a lost cause, Blanjini!" The trembling in my arms quickened, the burning itch for the opium intensified by the emotions coursing through me. "You are a great artist who deserves to be on a stage before all the world! There must to be a way to save you!"

A tear gleamed in his milky eyes. "Noble words. But those coins have an urgent purpose for you, the need for the dragon's breath."

Ashamed he had deduced my addiction, my head bowed as I bit my tongue hard enough to taste blood.

Tugging at his features, a sad smile accompanied his words. "I could always tell when you approached me. The scent of opium carried my way. Listen to me now! Stop tensing your arm … there. Now, are you listening to me?"

I took a deep breath, trying to focus on him, trying to quiet my thoughts from their frantic search to dredge up some scheme that would save his life.

"Good. There is nothing you can do that you have not already done." It was his turn to bow his head. "Just to have been honored with your gifts these last weeks, to let my lady sing with yours in all their glory … you let me make-believe that I was someone again. For so long I have been locked in the darkness." One hand rose from grasping mine to gesture to his eyes before resuming the firm grip. "Your music illuminated the veil with memories I had feared I would never permit myself to experience again. I have been greedy, occupying your time and talent. I fear I cannot repay you for that service. I am truly sorry."

"No." I shook my head, the words left me in a tone that sounded so hollow. "You have nothing to be sorry about. The honor was mine."

Squeezing my hand tighter against the coins, he raised his useless eyes to mine. "Save yourself Nightingale. Don't lose heart and die in this shit hole. Get out of here how ever you can and prove to the world the worth I see in you! This is not where you belong. You have to save yourself!"

"Blanjini, please—"

"Promise me." His desperate plea cut off my own. "Promise me you will rise above this!"

I was shaking so violently now that despite how tightly our fingers wrapped around the coins, I could hear them clattering within.

Another coughing fit stole his hands from around mine as he doubled over. All I could do was rub his back, watching wordlessly as he fought for air. At long last he was able to breathe again. Using his stick, he pulled himself up taking his violin in the other hand. He was turning to leave when he cocked an ear my direction. "You never answered me."

Miserably, I cast my eyes on the ground. "I do not wish to make a promise I may prove unable to keep … "

I heard the tapping of his stick as he walked away into the growing night, leaving me standing there battling the rising storm of my addiction.

If I only had the means …

 _ **~Erik~**_

The next morning was cold enough that frost glittered on the windowpane, dirty frost infused with soot. I wrapped my heaviest cloak around my shoulders, trying to banish the cold as my breath drifted up in frozen clouds. To protect her from the chill my Stradivarius rested in her case, slung over my shoulder as I trudged across the wide street with my head bowed. The autumn sun was rising later in the morning, the crowds less concentrated as people rushed from one place to another. It had even taken me longer to leave the apartment after a restless night. My thoughts were weighed down, unsure of what I would say to Blanjini today. If I could even say anything at all.

A horse drawn cart passed in front of me, forcing me to halt in the middle of the street. Jacques … it wasn't him, but it had been months since he had relocated the majority of his horses to the farm land near my quarry. I hadn't bothered to go up there since there was little to be done without a contract. On a few occasions I had seen him with his cart hauling supplies from the docks, but had not taken time to speak with him. Of course, it was because I had been playing my violin with Blanjini …

I froze in mid-step. My mind unwilling to believe my eyes. A strangled cry from my throat startled two men who instantly fled. One tripped and fell onto an object shattering beneath his knee as he scrambled around the corner. Breaking into a run I dashed to Blanjini's side. Below the iron column of the elevated train he was doubled over, his face resting on the frost covered cobblestones. A long stream of bright red blood trailed from his open mouth. There was evidence of a fan of sprayed flecks before him. Laying a hand on his back, I instantly recoiled, the cold already chilling his lifeless body. I should have known by that pattern alone … Blanjini must have come here as he did every morning. The cruel disease drowning him must have produced a cough so hard his lungs ruptured. There was nothing peaceful about how he lay, his arms wrapped about his chest in pained desperation.

Kneeling beside him, I struggled to catch my breath. Glancing around me I noted in dismay that no one even looked. There was no gathering crowd waiting for the music so commonplace on this corner. Oblivious to the nightmare just an arm's length away they just hurried on by in the cold morning. His violin … following the footsteps in the frost with my eyes I found the abandoned fragments of the shattered masterwork lying on the corner where the man had tripped and fallen.

The sight of the crumpled man and his shattered violin twisted a thorn in my side. How could this be happening? Just a few nights ago Blanjini had been the honorary conductor of the Saturday night festivities, lauded by the crowd … this morning he had succumbed to a violent death—alone.

Numb with sorrow, I climbed to my feet and collected the splintered violin. If I had in some corner of my mind hoped to restore the instrument, that hope was dashed the moment I picked up the largest piece, the neck of the violin. I collected every sliver I could find, reuniting them beside his body. Once I was certain I had them all, I reached a hand under his chest and gently pried his cooling body back to lay it out on the street corner. Those sightless eyes stared heavenward, frozen in a desperate plea. A plea that rent my heart in two.

I pressed his scarred eyelids closed, taking a moment to collect myself as I felt a shuddering rack my limbs. Piece by piece, I placed the violin on his chest making sure everything would remain in place. With an arm beneath his neck and the other in the crook of his knees, I cradled Blanjini's body to me letting his head roll against my shoulder. He did not deserve to lie here. I could not abandon him like the rest of the world had.

Driven with purpose, I locked my eyes ahead of me to be certain I would not falter on the slick ground. No one seemed to look my way as I carried out my grim procession. Street after street the only recognition was in the wide berth my progress was given. Southward. South into a less frequented area I stole into an old forgotten catacomb, the very same one where I had hidden the crates containing the rest of our things shortly after we arrived in America.

Nothing had changed in this timeless chamber of darkness. My eyes quickly adjusted as I pressed deeper into the recess of the earth, past the shrouded bodies of the long deceased reclining in eternal rest. A vacant stone shelf cut into the wall drew me across the chamber. Laying his body out, I brushed the cobwebs off the shelf, casting them to drift to the floor. With great care I pried his stiffening hands from his chest, repositioning his body to conceal the tortured manner of his death.

Through all this no tears dared to fall from my eyes. Eerily, I had been in complete control of my breathing, defying the rage building inside me.

Then the bitter realization dawned on me—I didn't know his name.

Two months I had bared my soul in music with this man. How could I say a eulogy for a man without knowing his name? Now the tears threatened to fall, welling in the corner of my eyes with a stinging heat.

"Truly there is no place for us here." My haunted words echoed back in the chamber. "For we are the richest paupers upon this earth. Inhabiting kingdoms of lavish visions crafted from our fertile minds while society demands ever more pour from our spirits in return for less than can sustain our bodies. The boundless value of our worth is reduced to the vagrant fringe of society as our tongues are sliced from our mouths, silencing our voices that would but decry of the savagery we have born witness to in this world. Unable to speak, as Philomel, we are forced to weave out the truth in tapestry, our flesh bearing tribute to the sins wrought upon us. Fingers twisted, backs torn, our bodies broken by the demands of those who look scathingly down on us, keeping us bound and destitute. And to what lengths, for what end do we strive? To stand ever at the crossroads of fortune and death holding out a beggar's bowl to the Fates? Who are we but the visionaries of the world driven mad by the essence of beauty always slipping through our hands, ever out of reach. Yet we dare, ever onwards we strive to make known the experiences of life, all of life! Not simply the joy and the ecstasy placed upon the exalted pedestal by those of leisure, but the degradation and pain known to us as inescapable. We who have experienced the fall from the pinnacle, have been teased by the heights of the gods only to feel the wind ripping the feathers from our wings in the inevitable plummet. Grounded, reeling, pining for the unattainable, we are but prisoners of a body broken by the hands of those who cast us down … our minds caged and tormented by that we can never more bring to bear. Do they know where the heart of what they call culture was born? Do they know of the blood sacrificed that they might recline and nod a passive acceptance, a polite clap at the end of a performance, that in their mind, is more than enough payment. Were they to walk the savage roads of the endless mirrored forest, the polished surfaces reflecting the hollow truth of every heart beating beneath the fine satins and silks, how they would tremble! How they would fall at the sight of their true nature! Breaking like fine crystal under a millstone for lack of fortitude against the elements of existence. There is a resilience essential to withstand the pressure of the chrysalis, the chamber that embodies all the power that creativity demands. But not every soul survives forced dormancy, some never emerge from the cell the world locks us in … then all is lost, a vision stolen from this world forever more. This eternal night, the nightingale weeps for thee. He who saw beauty beyond compare through blinded eyes. How society had robbed you and in so doing cheapened existence through petulant ignorance."

My bow floated upon the strings of my Stradivarius, though I had no comprehension of how it managed to be in my hands from the case, fully tuned. With my tear-filled eyes fixed on his body, now laid to eternal rest, I played not with him, but for him. To honor him. It was a piece never before played in full … the requiem mass I had written countless years ago when I still believed in a benevolent God. I could not restrict myself to one portion, but remained within that chamber playing the whole of it despite the chill seeping into my bones. Heedless of how far the haunting melody drifted from the abandoned kingdom of the dead.

In the silence that followed, I felt the numbness wash over me as I gazed upon him for one last time. Offering a full bow, I shut my eyes and whispered out, "May you find the peace my soul shall never know, my brother in spirit."

 _ **~Nadir~**_

The moment I opened the door I knew something was wrong. It was early afternoon and Erik was home. Stiffly seated at the desk with his cloak draped about his shoulders, his eyes stared out the closed window, broiling with some indiscernible emotion. His arms were crossed over his chest. I spied with dismay the wink of the blade grasped in his left hand.

Murder! That was what burned in his distant gaze.

Oh Allah help me to navigate this treacherous hazard! Help me to still that hand before he commits a crime he will regret! Oh Allah, please don't tell me he has already.

Erik's steely gaze edged over, fixing on me as I lingered too long. I swallowed under the tension, searching for something to say.

The moment he spoke my heart froze, the tone was so completely devoid of emotion. "He is dead."

Who is dead? I was unaware of anyone who had taunted a death wish from Erik. Surely he hadn't abandoned his senses and committed a wanton murder. That was hardly the most chilling aspect of this. I knew how to read the nuances of Erik's normally well-concealed emotions. For his voice to reveal nothing was a feat of absolute iron-willed control. Erik was on edge, one wrong word and years of friendship would mean nothing. Once more I only found the ability to swallow, unable to take even a single step further into the room.

The fingers flexed on the hilt of the knife. "This morning, alone and in misery, Blanjini died of consumption and the residents of the Bowery did not even notice."

I could not breathe at his statement. The poor man. To have suffered such a horrid death … a fresh chill ripped through me as I looked into Erik's emotionless eyes. His stiff posture was all that held him back from Allah only knew what he was intending. "Erik … that is tragic." My eyes flicked to the blade. I had to somehow get it from him, the blade that never left him, not even when he slept.

"Tragic?" The same rigidly controlled tone continued. "Tragic does not even begin to encompass the magnitude of the loss. You fail to understand who he was."

"He was a great man." I floundered taking a cautious step towards him.

The blink was painfully slow, reminiscent of a cat deceiving his prey into a false sense of security. This time when he spoke, each word punched the air, increasing with volume as he rose to his feet. "No—one—knew—his—name!"

The ground I had gained I rapidly surrendered, grasping the wall behind me as Erik's now enraged voice continued.

"No one knew who he was! Just a stranger! There on the street he died! Those shallow men tried to run off with his violin and smashed it! His beloved violin! Made by his own hands!" The knife appeared out from beneath his cloak, fully unveiled before Erik's blazing eyes. "If I find them, I will kill them!" He was shaking with fury as he lunged toward me. "Do you understand? I will be forced to kill them for their disrespect!"

The wall took all my weight as I suddenly gravely wished that it was the door behind me instead of a solid structure. All I could do was nod, my throat tightening.

Taking another step toward me, Erik fell to his knees, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. "Take it! Hide it! Nadir! Hide it so I can not do it!" His fingers uncoiled, gravity tore the hilt from his hand dumping the blade on the floor between my feet.

In a blind panic, I stooped down and snatched it away lest his lethal instincts reign over him once more. Erik grasped my shirt, clawing halfway to his feet. This close, I could see how bloodshot his eyes were, the dilated pupils spasmed. Holding the blade behind me, I held out my other hand trying to prevent his white-knuckled grasp from tearing my shirt. As calmly as possible I stated. "Erik, get a hold of yourself."

"You do not understand!" He shouted. "No one understands what he wanted, what he dreamed! They watched him die, Nadir!"

Lingering in his crazed eyes, I saw the hunger burning. The shaking of his limbs was not purely from this revelation, tragic as it was. Erik was in desperate need of opium. Last night he had come home with a fresh supply but I had not remembered him smoking anything. From his normal routine he was long overdue.

Wordlessly, I extracted myself from the trap between him and the wall. Heaving like a bellow, Erik crumpled there. On the desk I deposited the knife that I would conceal later. Right now there was something far more urgent. In a short time I held out the lit pipe for him.

Erik drew back in a series of repulsed jerks, his eyes darting away from the vice.

"Erik, you need this." I insisted quietly. "Please. You know it will calm things down, help you to think clearly again."

"No, the dragon betrays." His words did not match the flick of his fingers, his body knew the need even though he was in a desperate denial.

"Look at me." I pushed the pipe a little closer to him. The moment his deprived gaze met mine, I snatched his hand and forced the pipe into it. "Do you have any idea what withdrawal will be like? Erik, after months in this tenement you are far too malnourished to stand a chance of surviving long enough to quit! You—will—die! You have to have this and that time is right now!"

His eyes stared hollowly at the drifting smoke. The moment he surrendered his eyes shut, letting tears roll down beneath his mask. I had to reach forward and stabilize his hand, holding it steady as he inhaled deeply. After he exhaled, I guided him back to the chair where he sat down and dismally stared at the pipe.

A rapping on the door divided my attention. At least he was falling under the influence, the opium steadily blunting his edge. Prying the door open I was startled to find Chastity looking rather worried. She tried to glance around me. "I heard yelling. Is everything alright?"

Bowing my head, I took a slow breath trying to decide how to convey in my strangled grasp of English what was going on. "Erik found Blanjini dead this morning. He is … upset." Opening the door a little wider, I gazed back to where he slumped staring past the drifting tendrils of smoke.

"Oh no! This is terrible!" She took a slow step into the room beside me, her hand coming up over her mouth as she took in Erik's condition. "I should have guessed that was the scent from up here … I should have known he was an addict."

My shoulders fell as I bowed my head. "There is little choice for him now, I'm afraid. Especially now."

"Will he be alright?" She asked me in a whisper that would not possibly penetrate Erik's hazed world.

The worst to me was the truth. "I don't know."


	19. Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I was numb. That was all I could attain in an attempt to carry on in the dreary march of days following Blanjini's death. Whether the sun was shining or the clouds blocking out the light never met my senses as I trudged out each morning with the Stradivarius grasped loosely in my hands. If I ate or drank anything, I do not recall … all I remembered was the foggy embrace into the intermittent oblivion of my vice. It wasn't an escape—there was no escape. It only made the anguish more bearable.

Mechanically I played her strings for hours on end. Her voice was the only sound in my world … her voice spoke for me as I had lost all ambition to use my own. Throughout the days people gathered around listening to her lamenting voice and leaving behind a few coins. Some tried to provoke words from me. Their words I barely heard as I sat with my head bowed on the street corner. No tears fell from my eyes, _those_ I had shed in the catacombs. He was gone. There was no song I knew that could evoke his playful spirit. I only came here each day because I knew nothing else to do. The coins weighing in my hand at the end were a miserable burden, a means to supply what I needed to survive. Abysmally, I realized that was not food and shelter. My survival was hinged on a perpetual burning need.

The sun had set over an hour ago, frost blossomed on the cobblestones in the deserted street. I didn't know why I was still out here huddled in a cloak too threadbare to keep out the icy fingers of the wind. With a sigh, I reached out and tangled my fingers around the strings of the pouch I had set out earlier to collect the meager offerings of those who had stopped to listen. It took my numb fingers a considerable number of tries to secure it to my belt. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to go anywhere. Staring at my fingers now resting on my knee I wanted so much to just lay down on the cold ground and surrender myself … my soul too weary to endure any longer.

The pressure of her neck against my side reminded me she was there. My elegant Stradivarius nudged me. Subconsciously my fingers crawled down towards her, lifting her from the ground. She whispered to me, willing one more song. Just one more in the moonless night air. With a heavy heart I rose to my feet coaxing from the strings the first halting chords of Mozart's _Lacrimosa._ I could not sing the words aloud, but with every beat of my heart I invoked the desperate cry that ageless plea etched within the human existence. I saw the memory of his body lying crumpled on the stones where I stood even now … where would I be found lying? What would take me to the grave, a nameless creature undeserving of a proper burial? My eyes could not form the tears my soul ached to weep … only she could express them, and only in the shroud of the moonless night did I even dare.

My bow rested on the strings when I reached the end, an automaton wound down and requiring work to reset it. A frigid breeze tugged at the corner of my cloak. The bark of a dog, high pitched and frantic seeped into my attention. I opened my eyes to see before me the animal, abundantly coated in sable hair, the white tipped tail pluming out behind and held tense. The folded ears were held back as it looked in my direction. I had seen such dogs before used to herd sheep, collie dogs I believe they were known as. Pastoral watchers through the day and night. This dog was rigid, as though having spied a vicious wolf roaming the streets of Manhattan. Everything about this dog's posture spoke of danger ever present.

My shoulders fell at the sight, maybe this dog knew better than most of the tenement what dwelt within me as a low growl accompanied the frantic barking. I was about to turn when I noted something strange, his dark brown eyes were not fixed upon me … but over my shoulder.

A second later, the other half of my soul, my Stradivarius, was ripped from my hands. The man fled down the street without a backward glance. The dog tore after him, the high pitched barking piercing the night air. I found my own path intercepted by another man, his arm raised grasping a plank of wood intent on bashing me in the head. Instincts took over. I lunged away from him, hearing the wood crack as it struck the iron of the elevated train column.

My hand darted into my pocket, snaking out the cord with its lead weight. He'd been thrown off balance by his vain attempt to assault me. The whistle of the cord as it lashed out in the darkness to ensnare his throat startled him a moment before the lead weight came around and struck him with a bone cracking snap in the back of his skull. Mercilessly I yanked, feeling the pulse of his frantic heartbeat faltering through the tension as he struggled. A struggle that ended as his body sank to the street with his vacant stare fixed on the cobblestones. Even in the darkness I spied the black staining the skin on the back of his skull, the brutal kiss of death from the leaden weight. The thrum of his heart had stopped and would never again restart. A faint recognition flickered in my mind. I had seen this man before, not long ago. Flicking the weight to release it from the death grip on his neck, I coiled the Punjab cord even as I stepped away from the corpse. The other man had seized my violin and attempted to flee. If he had but scratched her I would flay him alive!

Stalking around the corner, I found the man had not made it far. My stolen Stradivarius lay abandoned on the ground in the middle of the street beside his thrashing body. The collie held fast to the flesh of his ankle, snarling and tugging as it surged all its weight back, holding him there. The man's hand reached up and was coming down in a frantic attempt to free himself from the dog when I unleashed the cord in a devastating collision course. It whipped around the wrist, the lead weight carried in a full arc to obliterate the thin bones, leaving the hand to flop under the pull of gravity.

He did not cry out. His eyes only stared in breathless horror at the now useless limb ensnared in the cord. Towering over the man, I gestured to the dog with my right hand. "That will do."

Almost instantly the collie released the man's ankle, circling round him with hackles still raised and that warning glare in his eyes. It was a warning the man never saw, as I reached down are wrenched his body from the frozen cobblestones. He began to babble, incapable of forming a single word in his haste.

I knew the face of this one. I remembered the expression locked on his face as he had darted around the corner days before. The shock on his features as he stumbled and fell, shattering Blanjini's violin under his knee. My fingers dug not only into his rotting shirt but pinching into the flesh of his chest. Within me something writhed in the darkness, a cold whisper rasping like a blade drawn against a whetstone.

"I'm sorry!" The man finally blurted out, twisting in my grasp. "Money's hard to come by! Some folk'll pay a lot of coins for an instrument. Please let me go!"

I didn't need to hear the voice's insidious whisper.

 _Kill him!_

The blade was already ramming up to the hilt into his stomach, the heat from his blood running over my hand as I twisted it. The shock in his eyes pulsed with every beat of his heart, intensifying as each contraction of the muscle forced the life from him. This piece of excrement symbolized all that was wrong with the human world! How dare he beg mercy from me after trying to steal her! Oh, I would let him go alright. Straight into the gates of hell! I pushed up harder, watching his mouth hanging open in a soundless scream as his toes left the ground. It is impossible to breathe once the diaphragm has been pierced. I tore his with a wrenching motion as I extracted the blade sideways.

His muscles gave one final twitch before his rag doll body hung lifeless in my hand. Wordlessly, I dropped his body like the sack of shit he was. The dog's tongue lapped at the blood soaking my hands.

I spared a glance downwards to see the tail offering a slow wag. Had this dog not barked, pulling me from the reverie, I might not have seen the assault in time. It could be me lying in the street, dead to the world. "Thank you." I whispered out, ruffling the dog's ears before I stepped over to the Stradivarius. Blessedly, she looked alright. The man must have rolled to the ground, protecting her as he fell.

She was alright. Holding her tightly to my chest I felt a tear roll down to splatter on her polished finish. She was alright! What would I have done if she had been destroyed in their recklessness? This was more than a violin. She had been the voice of my soul for so long and in a heartbeat I had nearly lost her forever. I had already lost so much … oh God, how much more will you take from me?

 _You know how greedy He is … why ask that question?_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

It was well past dark as I dragged myself up the stairwell, my entire leg ached from the punishing day's work. The wages had hardly been worth the ten hours of labor, but at least I had managed a rare day, selected to work in some drafty warehouse. All I wanted to do now was huddle up beside the coal stove and drink some of that awful weak tea. In the darkened corridor, I reached out to turn the doorknob and my hand slipped. Something sticky clung to my fingers. It was far too dark to see anything. Raising my hand to my nose I inhaled. Instantly I grasped the knob shoving the door open.

Blood! The moment that the candlelight hit my fingers I saw the gleam of blood coating my hand. Oh Allah, I knew I should have been worried when I realized the knife was missing from my hiding place last night. He hadn't said a word in days, not since he had begged me to take it from him, not one word! Whose blood was that, was it his? Where was he? What had he done?

"Erik?" I breathed out, cautiously stepping into the room. He wasn't at the desk and I knew better than to startle him by shouting. "Erik … where are you … answer me." I could hear the tremble in my voice as I edged around the corner praying that he wasn't there waiting to strike.

In the far corner beside the window, Erik was slumped against the wall, his eyes beneath the mask completely vacant. Across his legs lay the Stradivarius, droplets of red tarnishing her. His clothing was smeared with blood, a great quantity of it that was not present on the floor. Whatever had occurred, it had not been here. I cringed at the sight of the leaden weight lying where he had dragged it, the other end of the cord still tangled in his long fingers. His left hand still held the hilt of the blade, the metal completely drenched in blood.

Stepping very carefully into the room, I used my shoe to catch the weight at the end of that lethal cord of his, tugging it from his limp fingers. With relief I noted he did not respond to my efforts, letting the edge of the cord fall away. That was easy. The knife. How was I going to get the knife from him?

"Can you hear me, Erik?" I watched as he breathed. There was a slight twitch of his hand—the fingers only slightly holding the blade now. "Are you bleeding? Please … answer me." I begged, fighting to keep the fear from my voice.

It was hardly perceptible, but he shook his head. His eyes blinked, squeezing shut before opening again.

In the act of reaching forward to remove the violin from his lap, I knocked the blade across the room well out of his immediate grasp. There was so much blood. I could not be certain if he was aware of the truth. He might very well be bleeding to death and completely oblivious of it.

"You're a mess." I said quietly, rising to gather up a bowl of water and a cloth. "I'm going to get you cleaned up. Alright?"

There was no response. Nothing from him as I scrubbed the blood from his hands wondering all the while whose it had been. Erik didn't look up even as I peeled the sodden shirt from him to find that he had somehow evaded any injury. The copious amount of blood was entirely someone elses and there was no way they would have survived. I had no idea what I was going to do with that soiled mess on the floor.

Forcing his limbs into some cleaner clothing, I dragged him to his feet. Erik was barely conscious, his eyes unfocused as he staggered along beside me towards the bedroom. He did not resist as I laid him out on the bed. In the candlelight I brought into the room I packed a small amount of opium into the pipe, lighting it before holding it to his slackened lips.

"Just a small amount. But you need some real sleep. You can tell me what happened in the morning." I held it for him as he breathed it in, his eyes shutting tightly before the smoke gradually drew the tension away. Under my hand, I felt the muscles in his arm relaxing. In less than a candlemark, he was sound asleep, leaving me alone to a long and restless night hiding everything he might use as weapon. Mopping up the blood stains on the floor.

When the sun's rays broke through the window, I heaved a sigh and pushed the door open to wake him. Erik didn't stir when the darkness was banished. Not even when I called his name. His chest rose and fell steadily. In the dim light I could see the slight slit of his eyes glistening. Reaching for his shoulder, I found my gesture blocked as his hand lashed out from beneath the covers and clamped down painfully on my forearm. The force in his grip threatened to snap the thinner bone!

"Erik!" I gasped, trying to pry his hand loose. "It's me! Erik wake up!"

Fighting to draw back, I wrenched and twisted, but the grip held fast. There was no change in the rest of him, no sign of recognition or acknowledgment of my pleas. My heart pounded against my ribs as I remembered the old tales from Persia. Erik had been prone to strange mood swings, and at times he had retreated to his tent and would not emerge for days. Men who had been sent in to rouse him would exit in one of two states: frightened and injured, or carried out to their final resting place. Those who could speak told of the mindless assault inflicted upon them.

Staring down at my fingers turning a dusky blue from the pressure, the panic welled within me. "Erik! Let me go!"

The grip tightened. The gap in his eyes widened slightly before the grip suddenly went slack. Prying my arm from the snare of his fingers, I slid back against the wall leaning against the doorjamb, stricken with fear. I had only heard of this state, never seen him like this. I didn't dare approach him again!

Erik was descending into madness!


	20. Chapter 20

_**Chapter 20**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Be reasonable, it's time to acknowledge how childish this whole strategy is." The echo of his steps in the barren stone room told me precisely where his circling steps carried him. Seated on the floor in total defiance, I held my knees to my chest, pointlessly counting the fine hairs on the back of my hand over and over again.

"Love the décor in here, such style and elegance." His sarcastic tone dripped with disgust. "Aspiring to new depths, I see. You haven't wasted even a single stroke of your mind to dress the stone work in this … what is it, a crypt? How imaginative and utterly fitting. You know you are being terribly rude not looking at me when I am speaking to you." A deep chuckle hung in the air as his foot tapped the floor directly in front of me. "We all know what a stickler you are for formalities."

I spared him only a mild glance, this abysmal creature robed in midnight blue. He was as a fine sculpted angel, as perfect in form as anything ever carved by Michelangelo or Raphael. Two great wings like those of a black swan hung relaxed from behind his shoulders. Oh, any who laid eyes upon this preternatural perfection would believe him to be an angel … if they strictly believed their eyes.

I knew better. Returning to the mindless task of counting hairs, I heard him release a rather melodramatic sigh.

"Erik. These little chambers you try and construct in your mind to contain me are becoming rather tiresome. They're not real. We're not in the real world. This is all in your head." He pointed to himself, the gesture grabbing my attention. "I know this." Pointing to me, he nodded. "You know this. This trick only delays the inevitable. So let's dispense with the formalities and get down to business. You know why I am here."

When I refused to reply, trying to keep focus on the same pointless task he had been trying to disrupt for what felt like eons, he snapped his fingers. The sound resulted in every muscle in my imaginary body flinching against my will.

"Someone has been a very disobedient servant." His voice took on a dark edge. "You know what that means. It makes me have to go to greater lengths to get your attention! Like earlier."

He struck me a blow across the cheek, sending me reeling across the barren floor. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watched as he retracted long black claws. Once more the hand was nothing more than that, a hand. Reaching up, I felt the long welts he had left behind. A smear of blood marked my fingers when I withdrew my hand from my unmasked face. It didn't matter. Tucking my chin I refocused my eyes, starting over again.

"Why do you do this to me?" He bent down, cocking his head before my gaze. "Just explain to me why you insist upon this childish row again and again and again?"

"Because it angers you, my demon." I muttered.

Pursing his lips, he let a slow smile linger there as he rolled his fingers against his arms. "You know what I find amusing about this? It's that all this time you seem to be under the illusion that you are my only charge to keep on task. That is not true Erik. I have scores of souls entrusted to my talons. Yet, you seem to believe that I enjoy this part … this … " he searched for a word, "tormenting. The truth of the matter is, I don't like it one little bit. I am most satisfied when all I am called upon is just to witness my charges embracing their fates without me needing to remind them."

Wryly, I eyed him, "So you are confessing that you are lazy."

Innocently he placed a hand to his heart, or where one would be anyway. "Not in the least. I am a very diligent servant, always ready at the command of my master. Unlike some people." He hooded his eyes. "I am not supposed to have favorites and yet for some reason I find that you are. How could you not be? Anyone who made such a pact … well, normally mortals are so very petty and shallow wishing for something without a consideration of true worth. They never for a moment realize what they ask. Never see the big picture." He rose to his full height, flaring out his wings as he threw his head back. "But you! You were so young the night you yelled out your challenge … your bargain into the darkness—all of Hell stopped and listened! _Your immortal soul for the endurance to achieve all you desired._ That, my friend, that takes someone with ambition! That night you impressed him! We all were convinced that you would honor your bond."

Damn it! Why had I started to listen to him? Now I could not shut him out.

His expression soured. "Then you had the nerve to grow a conscience! You stopped listening when I called you. You made me have to get tough on you! I don't like having to do this Erik. But when you defy me, you defy the master. And I cannot have that. I simply must do my job. You understand." A long leather whip appeared in his hand.

Tensing, I fought everything to stay still, to not let the dread of a lash devastate my resolve and trick me into releasing him from this prison that held the both of us! If I did not let him out, he could not hurt anyone … except me. The _me_ trapped in here with him. This body was not real. I clung to that thought as I heard the crack of the whip in the air above my head. Privy to the harshest of my life lessons, he was taunting me, trying to force me to lash out.

A second time he drew the whip back. The fire in his eyes told me this time it was not a warning. He flicked it into the air. Snatching it from above my head, I yanked it out of his hand despite the sting as it struck me. Discarding it to the side, I watched it crumble into dust. _No weapons in this room._ I amended the laws of this confining space.

"Well now, that was a nice little trick." He stared at his empty hands. There was a little gesture that betrayed an attempt to force something else into existence … nothing came of it to his shock. He nodded slowly in approval. "You've gotten a little better at this game. And so now you think to make me wait this out, in here, in this empty room with you. Until I relent."

Fixing him with an intense stare, I folded my arms across my chest. "Indeed. That is the plan. For I know you can't linger here forever. Your time is limited." No matter how long he desired to accompany me, there always reached a point when his grasp loosened. When he was cast back into the abyss leaving my thoughts as my own. All I had to do is outlast him.

He offered me a sly smile. "My time is not as limited as yours. For while I am here, it is no risk to me. For you, your mortal body still lives and breathes. Your heart still beats—and cannot do so indefinitely. Tarry here inside your head long enough … and you will simply waste away and—die."

"Then your master loses a servant." I replied smugly.

"No. _Our_ master gets your promised soul." Looking about the room, he wrinkled his nose. "I grow weary of these surroundings, so boring and monotonous. Shall we explore something a little more … interesting?"

When he snapped his fingers, my simple chamber vanished, replaced by the mirrored wilderness. With a start I shot to my feet. He had never been able to banish my constructions before! No, oh no! Not in here! How the hell did he learn how to access this place?

"That's better." He drifted forward running his hand along one of the chains as he did so I watched his form melting … the perfect skin taking on the appearance of scales, claws flexing out of his hands and feet. The angelic face twisted and distorted into something no animal on earth possessed. "Keeping that ridiculous mockery of a form is so tiresome. It's so nice to be able to slip into something more reflective of my nature."

"What are we doing here?" I tried to keep my voice level, but I knew even as my eyes caught the reflections that I was already quivering.

"Here? Why, taking a little stroll through your memories." He had a tail now that he flicked in the air lazily. "You know what this place is. You know what it does." Taking a claw he ground it against the glass surface of the mirror leaving behind a jagged scar in the glass.

Physical pain burned in me as I doubled over.

He laughed ominously. "Oh yes, that is one suspicion confirmed. So the links forged by the iron chains are in fact corporeal. This is going to be deliciously fun!" When I dared to look at him, his beastly eyes beheld me with utter fascination. "One way or another you know how this ends."

To my horror I watched as he spun, flipping his shapeshifting body in between the mirrors.

"Shit!" I screamed, darting after his fleeting shadow. I tried desperately to catch him as he yanked and pulled on the chains, shoving mirrors on their pivots in all manner of directions. His deranged laughter taunted me as he tore ever faster through the reflections of my past. I did not have time to be tormented by their visions … that was not his intention! He knew shapeshifting was not a trick I possessed. I was trapped in this human form. I was not a demon and my skills within this realm were indeed limited. He was rapidly replacing his form to his immediate advantage, sliding between the panes of mirrors or wedging himself through a barrier of chains, leaving me to find some other way around it. I cursed in every tongue I knew! When I gained ground on him, he simply drew his claws against the surface of a random mirror. The end result sent me reeling to the floor until the blinding pain ebbed inside me.

How much damage was he really doing? I had lost track of how many mirrors he had altered as he lured me deeper into the labyrinth. I was completely lost, not that I ever had possessed a good grasp on these haunted corridors. But now as I stumbled along, not even hearing his passage, I wondered where the hell he had led me … if he even knew or cared.

Pausing to catch my breath, for this chase had been prolonged, I dared to glance around at the flickering reflections … memories of my childhood solitude, practicing the ventriloquism I had learned from a book. Perhaps not all of my memories had been fully tarnished. I reached out a hand close to brushing the surface of the mirror.

A searing pain jolted up my leg as I stumbled back screaming in shock. From underneath the mirror he had lunged out in the form of a viper. His fangs latched deep into my calf. I felt him press harder in one final convulsive snap, emptying venom sacks into both punctures. My hands blindly seized the tail and I tore his fragile serpentine body from the wound, slamming him against the floor before throwing him as far as I could. I did not care where he landed.

Grasping my calf, I dug my fingers into the throbbing flesh above the wound, fighting to breathe against each pulse of my heart. I could feel my body taking up the poison, feel the heat rising.

Crouching in the darkness between two mirrors, he snarled out. "If you resist words, let's see you repulse poison. I know you think you can suppress it, hat talent I would not put beyond you. For I know your abilities to endure. So, let us raise the stakes."

Somehow I managed to drag myself up, holding tightly to a chain. Sweat dripped from me as the heat radiated up from the wound.

"What is your most precious memory … " he asked, curiosity in his tone. It meant that he did not know. He was only a demon. It did not make him omniscient. I cleared my mind. If I could deny him that advantage for whatever he wanted it for. But his eyes flashed wide and he bared his fangs in a satisfied grin. "Oh … yes … _her_."

How did he guess? I had …

"You are so very transparent, Opera Ghost!" He barked a mocking laugh. "Of course it is the one thing you sacrificed everything for!" Flexing his claws in the air, he narrowed his beastly eyes. "Shall we see how _precious_ I can rend it?" Without another word he turned and vanished into the darkness.

Panic seized me. Ignoring the searing agony of his venom, I threw myself headlong after him. Every beat of my heart drew it further into my system. It's effect I could only guess. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered more than stopping him from scarring those memories!

Somehow I closed the distance. Leaping over a chain, I flung my body in a desperate attempt to blindside him from between two mirrors.

He had not known! I saw his expression of shock the moment before I grabbed his shoulders dragging him with me as his attempt to duck failed to completely evade me. We went skidding across the floor. I felt mirrors explode as we crashed into them. Heavy iron chains were released from their gears in a tremendous thunder. Beneath me shards of mirror scattered everywhere, crunching as I writhed in the resulting agony of this destruction.

"Idiot!" The demon cursed, howling as I heard the sucking sound of glass being pulled from his flesh. "I hope those memories weren't important to you whatever they were! Changing the refraction is one thing, shattering them is quite another! I'm not sure which is worse, letting you live long enough to learn what you have done or just dragging you to hell now!"

With a trembling arm, I fought to push myself to up. The heat of the venom building inside was sheer torture, I almost begged for release but did not have the voice for such a plea.

"It is time to remind you." Anger pulsed in his declaration. I heard the rattle of the heavy chain as he dragged it across the floor. Grinding his foot into the wound on my leg, he seized my throat when I reared up blindly to stop him from hurting me. Wrapping the chain around my neck, a blistering heat burned where he held it together, forging a solid link that now effectively shackled me. Dragged down by the weight of the iron links, I fell back to the floor, my hands trying to break the scalding link as he snarled, "You forged your bond long ago and dared to think you could ignore it! It's time you remember your place." Giving the heavy chain a savage yank, he dragged me across the floor cutting off my ability to breathe in the process. "Heel boy!"

He gave me no chance to gain any ground as he hauled me about, gasping for air. Tiring of the heavy chain he let go and dropped me into the pile of glass. On my hands and knees, I hung my head panting.

"I told you I detest doing this, but you drive me to it! Why don't you just obey!"

He drove his talons into my back with all his weight. My limbs threatened to buckle as I threw my head back in a primal scream. He withdrew his claws, letting me fall to the ground.

"It's so troublesome to get your attention."

"Then … " I rasped, glaring up from the ground. I was not some dog to be beaten! "Leave me alone!"

His reply died in his throat as I exploded upwards. Dragging the heavy iron links in my last ditch effort to teach this insidious viper his place. He never saw the long shard of glass I drove up into his throat. His eyes were locked on mine in disbelief as I shoved my shoulder as hard as I could against his body, letting my uninjured leg bear the strain. Heaving under the pressure, I felt the chain he had welded about my neck tighten as he pulled on it trying to drag me down. But my _desire_ was to see him defeated! Blood trickled into my eyes from a cut on my forehead as I gave one last vehement shove before I felt the mirror I was pressing him against draw him in.

Stumbling forward into the void he left behind, I collapsed down the frame of the mirror, gasping for air and racked with pain. The world pitched and spun around me which was why I missed the sound of the chain links … until the sudden force yanked my neck up at a savage angle, colliding with the bottom edge of the great mirror.

His enraged voice thundered from above as I flailed, locked in a struggle to remain outside of the confines of whatever memory he was threatening to drag me into.

"You have not won, Erik! There is no way to win! You either serve out your bond to the master in your life or, he prepares a more torturous fate for you when you die! Either way he gets you! The master can be very patient for he knows your fate will eventually place you directly in his hands where your punishment will be grave!"

Straining with all my might, I felt the chain slacken and fall free of the mirror. His hold on the realm of my mind had vanished, releasing with it the choking hold on the shackle. It still rode there, the forged bond rubbing against my blistered neck with every exhausted breath.

I don't know how long I lay on the ground just trying to breathe. The lingering burn of his venom drove me to stir. I had to get out of here. If I didn't find some way to wake up soon my mortal body would give up … and he would win. Oh God … scraping together every shred of my will, I crawled to my knees. Gathering the heavy links of chain in my hands I stumbled to my feet. All I could manage was a pitiful staggering, my head bowed under the exhaustion of each movement. I was disoriented by the fever burning in my veins.

Unable to tell where I even stood, I felt the chain slip from my hands driving me to the floor with its weight. I possessed no more strength than an infant crawling across the floor. The lengths of iron scraped behind me. Every effort was monumental.

I had to get out of here.

I had to wake up.

If I die … before I wake …

My arms gave out as I tried to reach forward, the fingers of my left hand trailing down the surface of a mirror. Voices … voices from not so long ago drifted out … a conversation overheard on the rooftop of the Paris Opera.

" _Please, I am frightened of him! I can't do this!" Her frantic voice begged._

" _Christine, my love. Just trust me, come with me tonight and I will free you from this cursed man forevermore."_

" _Raoul! I will never be free of him! Never!"_

" _Shh." He drew her in close, silencing her with a kiss. "My Christine, soon you will be riding in the carriage beside me. This nightmare will be over. No more ghosts. No more monsters. Just the way we were meant to be."_

The wail that tore from my throat matched the one issuing from the mirror's captive memory.

"Christine!"


	21. Chapter 21

_**Chapter 21**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Once more the sun had long since set as I huddled into my itchy scarf, trudging north on the now deserted Bowery. The day had been one long anxious blur since I had been fortunate enough to be chosen from the work line for another mindless task. Even though my grasp of the English language was limited the skill was invaluable, just as Erik had predicted.

Erik … oh Allah, how I worried!

Yesterday I had not left the apartment, pacing and fretting the whole of the day. I still felt the bruising from his grip on my arm. Staring into the darkened room at his prone figure, I was haunted by the sight of his motionless body. The eyes were the only thing stirring beneath half-closed lids. All I could do was check intermittently from a distance that he still breathed. One day of this powerless situation was all I could stand lest I be driven mad by the sight. This morning, before the sun had risen, I had already forced myself out the door determined to secure a distraction. Returning home, I clutched the door knob to the building, switching the grasp on the meager food I had managed to purchase from the market. It wasn't much, but perhaps I could make a soup that would stretch for a few days. Someone had to provide money to buy food for our survival. A shiver stole through me as I climbed the stairs … what would I find when I opened the door? Would I now be alone in this confusing city?

That fear petrified me. Being alone and lost in this strange world. Everything had changed! For the whole of my life I had never truly been alone. As a distant member of the royal family, I had been entitled to servants who had looked after so many of the needs I had taken for granted. I had never considered the work involved in drawing a bath, cleaning clothing, preparing a daily meal … that was, until I had been forced to take care of myself. Cooking, hah! I wasn't even certain what I was doing could be considered cooking. Erik never made much remark about it. Then again, the man barely paid any heed to what sustained him. I had wondered if he knew how to prepare anything other than tea until I realized how utterly foolish an idea that was. By his own admission he had never had servants until the hospitality was forced upon him in Persia. Prior to this he had been on his own for the majority of his life. Shifting for himself as he liked to put it. How similar in years and yet, vastly different we were.

I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the sight I feared would greet me in the bedroom and opened the door to our apartment. That breath did not leave my chest as I stared across the room unprepared for what I saw. Erik was sitting with his back to the desk, slouching in the chair. The moment his eyes opened to the faint light from the corridor behind me, I watched his whole body straighten to his full height, rather like a marionette under tension. The expression he adopted in the darkness was hard to discern. It was only through familiarity with him that I thought I recognized the bland indifference he often displayed to the world.

"Erik! Pardon me." I stuttered ,"I didn't expect you to be, well … well, out here."

"Clearly." There was that tone I knew well. The neutral tone that betrayed nothing. Funny, I had not noticed how much he had abandoned that striking mannerism until the sudden return of the aristocratic facade. "Else you would have left me a candle."

Bustling into the room, I discarded, the items onto the shelf and searched for a candle. "I assumed that you would be sleeping the whole time."

"Were that what I was actually doing," came that measured tone … it made me pause for a moment in my search. Something about it sounded different. I could not quite sort out what the reason, but it was as if the quality of his voice had been concentrated. Focused. I had heard this before but could not recall the specifics of when and where.

"I'm sorry." I pawed along the dark shelving trying to locate one of the wax pillars. "Last night I burnt one down through the wick and when I couldn't find a replacement I decided not to worry about it until today. I didn't expect to be so late. Besides, I thought you liked lurking in the dark." Where the hell did they wander off to?

He took a slow breath before replying. "I do prefer the dark."

I had the feeling there was more intended by the raised note at the end but only silence followed. Growling at my failure to find something suitably flammable in the small apartment, I rapped my fist against the shelf. "Your eyes are so damn well adapted to the darkness. Why don't you help me find a candle! Been sleeping for two bloody days, far more rested than I am!"

"You should not make such assumptions, Daroga." He replied.

"Well then, if you weren't sleeping, what were you doing lying there in a bed?"

"Fighting a demon."

I turned slowly, pondering the level tone with which those words had been spoken. Was this some kind of joke? It had be! Erik could be a prankster after all with a rather dark sense of humor. "Of course you were," I laughed, finally locating a fresh candle. "I mean that's what everyone does."

"I am serious, Nadir."

Opening the door to the coal stove, I blew on the embers before touching the wick to it. "Sure you are." I muttered sarcastically. "Are you listening to yourself, Erik?"

"Yes." The tone had altered, an icy edge invading it. "A little too much lately of that voice always muttering oaths in my head. It gets exceedingly tiresome."

The candle lit, I watched the flame as I turned from the growing heat of the stove. "Don't be ridiculous, Erik. You don't have some demon in your head … "

 _Really._

I nearly dropped the candle! Erik's voice was directly inside my skull in the same resonance quality as before. What the hell was he doing casting his voice like that? He hadn't done ventriloquism is some time that I was aware of! Was he practicing, planning on performing a magic act again? No. Certainly not! He detested that idea more than he had playing his music in public. "Stop that! I nearly dropped the candle."

 _Not until I prove a point to you._ He continued as I watched the flame guttering at the end of the wick, trying to ensure it stayed burning. _Imagine this effect, something like this muttering away inside your mind, making suggestions, goading you, prodding you. I know you are thinking it is no difficult issue, for it is just me deceiving your ears. Now, take a step back—what if you knew the source of the voice in your head was not me._

My eyes looked beyond the candle, focusing on the deep shadows the light cast on Erik. He had spoken in my head, but his lips had not moved. There was an intense expression on his stoic face despite the twisted features. He was rigidly still. He was hiding something from me. But what? I still was uncertain of what had happened prior to this.

"Erik." I began firmly. "You were upset over Blanjini's death. Don't you think it's possible that is the reason? Normal people who are upset have been known to experience temporary delusions."

 _This is not, nor has it ever been, temporary._

I winced as the tone intensified, nearly a shout! "Stop that! Right now! I mean it, Erik! Get out of my head."

 _Maddening, is it not? I am being very serious and you are not listening._

Narrowing my eyes I shook my head and declared, "You are not possessed!"

The flat glare he gave me betrayed a flicker of emotion. Anger? Something surged within him as his hand flexed into a claw on his knee. "How the hell do you know!" The voice issuing through his throat cracked, the words catching in a pained spasm as he forced them out. Pushing up from the desk, he rose to his full height preparing to unleash some tirade of pent up fury upon me.

It never made it. What little color he did have flushed away in a single wave. His eyes rolled backwards as every muscle went limp.

Shoving the candle-holder haphazardly onto the desk, I just barely managed to catch his weight in my shock! There wasn't much weight to catch. Lowering him to the ground, I laid him out on his back looking closely at him for the first time in the dim light. Though he had always been on the thin side, his body seeming to refuse to store anything, now he was deathly gaunt. The flesh clinging to his bones simply stretched there, barely sliding back into place. Through his slack mouth his shallow breaths came with a rapid pattern that mirrored the fluttering of his pulse.

"Erik!" I shook him. "Erik, for Allah's sake, wake up!" Drawing back my hand I slapped him hard preparing and almost hoping for him to leap back into consciousness and try to subdue me.

But there was nothing. Scrambling up, I made for the water barrel knocking the lid to the floor and hastily filling the earthenware mug. Returning to his side, it took me a few tries to support his head with the mug held to his lips, for I was shaking with dread. I had seen something like this before. Prisoners in Mazanderan who were withholding valuable information had sometimes been subjected to a specific torture: the denial of food and water. Lying in my arms now, Erik eerily resembled those who had held out the longest. Some of those men, whether they intended to or not, took their secrets to the grave.

"Come on, swallow!" Angling his head, I waited, letting the water touch what he had of a twisted upper lip.

Faintly there was motion, a little twitch … the automatic reflex as the body recognizes what it needed. Whether or not he was consciously drinking I could not tell. But by the time the mug was empty, Erik's eyes had cracked open weakly. His pulse was still erratic as he rasped in each breath. How close was he to having died of thirst? Of course he had been using his ability to throw his voice! His throat was too cracked and dry to speak with any comfort.

As I refilled the mug, crossing back to his side, I noticed the scuffing on his pant legs and the dirt on the palms of his hands. He could not have possibly walked out here … no, he must have crawled, dragging himself up to rest in the chair halfway to his goal, the water barrel! He had known he was in danger.

Holding the mug to him, I watched as he struggled to drain it.

"Why didn't you tell me what was wrong?" I pleaded with him. There was no comprehension in his eyes. Everything he had left was concentrating on breathing. The one thing I knew from the prisoners experiences was that reintroducing water and food must be done slowly or the body rejected it. Erik had managed to down two full mugs and already I could see a visible change in the hollow of his belly rising and falling with each breath.

"I don't want you trying to walk." It seemed like a ridiculous statement, he could barely keep his eyes open. But I wouldn't let him take the chance of trying. "I'm going to carry you back to the bed. Please don't fight me."

The moment I slid my arms beneath his neck and knees, lifting him off the ground to no resistance I found myself wishing desperately that he would stir. A muscle flinch, even a spasm! Something! His head rolled unchecked against my chest, his left arm dangled.

I laid him on his back, bringing the blanket up over his wasted figure. His eyes were cracked open, barely able to track my motion as I left the room for the candle and another mug full of the water. Once he drifted off to sleep, something that seemed not long coming, I knew I would have to prepare the soup. For Erik would be in dire need of it.

A slight trembling rattled the bed. As I watched, I saw the pulse of his hand beneath the blanket. An incessant twitching in one direction. The faint candle light caught his blue eye which was rocking back and forth. Up to me, then down to the right, up to me, then down to the right. It wasn't the candle he was indicating. There, on a very narrow box wedged as a makeshift nightstand, was his opium pipe.

"Erik … not now."

He winced, deliberately. I could see the pleading, edging on panic in his eyes when they cracked back open.

Lowering my head I reached out and went through the motions. "Your throat is cracked, this isn't going to feel very good."

But I stood corrected a few moments later, when I supported the pipe for him and watched him breathing in and out, fighting to stabilize his panting. Gradually the smoke must have made it through. The trembling settled away as his eyes shut and the tension left his features.

As I pulled the pipe away I felt his pulse, my own heart sinking. It was still as rapid as a bird in flight. Over these past days the Erik I knew had been stripped away, battered and broken. All unseen while I watched from a distance. His words before he had collapsed, berating me for not believing him, echoed with what someone else recently said … Fighting with a demon … for something lurks in the darkness.

 **~Nadir~**

The half empty bowl of tepid broth rested in my lap, while I stared at the flickering reflections of the candle. For countless hours through the night I attempted to coax Erik drink as much he could. His stamina proved fleeting and I was not convinced he was even coming fully awake. A dry cough was about the only motion he made other than the rapid rasp of breathing. There was so little I could do for him as he lie there in what seemed to be a few breaths from the embrace of death.

Glancing out the bedroom door I could see the sky beginning to lighten and once more my mind circled on a dire decision. Resting my hand on his shoulder I hoped he was there behind those sunken eyes enough to hear me as I whispered, "I'm sorry, Erik. But if there is any chance of you recovering enough to leave this bed you have to eat. That means I have to go and find work."

I was shaking, terrified at leaving him stricken like this. What else could I do? We both had to eat and soon the landlord would be pounding on the door for the rent. If he did not get it, we had witnessed what happened to those who couldn't pay. This apartment was already cold enough with the small coal stove. Without these walls sheltering him Erik would freeze to death.

Pulling the blanket up to his slackened chin, I slid off the bed feeling trapped by this horrid choice. I could very well come home and find him gone onto the next world, the rapid flutter of his heart having taken him. But I had to take the risk that he would truly just sleep the whole time I was out. When I returned, I would have to redouble my efforts to get more into that sunken belly. Each time I watched it falling as he breathed, collapsing without any resistance … I cringed at the appearance.

Bowing my head, I went to the coal stove and stirred the embers, working it up to add a little more heat to the small room. A feeble cough drew my attention back to the bed.

Tugging on my thickest coat, I lingered in the doorway one last time. "Just hold on Erik. I promise I will do whatever it takes to get you through this."

 **~Nadir~**

Numbed from the cold, I shivered as I walked into the apartment. I needed heat! Stripping off the woolen mittens, I immediately set to stirring up the coal embers with great fervor in the slight chill of the room. I was surprised to find the contents of the stove rather active. The warmth melted away the stinging of my skin, a pleasant tingling gradually took over. Only when the heat soaked all the way through the layers of clothing did I reach into my pocket and free from it the day's wages, casting them into the small pouch Erik had been using with his violin. It had been simpler not to put the recent earnings into his hiding place in the wall as the daily trickle of coins were spent almost as swiftly as they had been earned. Purposefully, I had been forcing myself not to look into the other room. I wasn't ready yet to face what I might find. Somehow not knowing seemed easier.

It couldn't wait forever … glancing over my shoulder I narrowed my eyes. There was a relatively tall taper candle burning on the makeshift nightstand. When I left a shorter candle had been on my side of the bed, or was I going crazy? Even for all Erik's strange abilities, it would be beyond a miracle for him to have been able to get out of bed and with sufficient coordination, light a candle!

Tiptoeing up to the doorway I heard the fall of my uneven steps. Erik was still in bed, his eyes shut. But I paused … there was the sound of dripping water. A moment later a pair of delicate hands reached over him, spreading a folded cloth across the thin skin of his forehead. Hastily I rushed into the doorway to find the silhouette of a woman seated on my side of the bed.

"What the hel … "

"Shh." Chastity held a finger to her lips. "Be quiet. He only just settled again."

Edging into the room, it took me several moments to even believe my eyes. Even longer to be able to whisper out the obvious question. "What are you doing here?"

She moved with exceptional slowness, skillfully not shifting the mattress as she looked over her shoulder at me. The candlelight's soft glow flattered her in contrast to the harsh shadows it revealed on Erik's exposed deformity. Keeping her voice low she replied, "I heard him crying out, not in a way that had carried through the floor before. When I came up to find out what was wrong it became obvious he was extremely ill. The least I could do was stay by his side for a while, until he faded back to sleep again." Gesturing to the cloth on his forehead she sighed, "He's with fever and he's not sweating. That is a rather bad sign."

"Fever?" I reached down, close enough to feel the heat radiating from his arm. Blessedly it wasn't a blazing fever, but enough to plague him. "I swear, he didn't have a fever when I left this morning. I never would have left him had that been the case." The words came tumbling out faster and faster. "But I have no choice! We need the money! Since he is too ill to play I have to find work!"

Again she held a finger up reminding me to keep my voice down. "You are fussing worse than he had. That was bad enough, you mustn't wake him."

"But wha … "

" … Christine … Christine … " It was but a desperate whimper.

We both looked down. Erik's fever bright eyes were barely open. He trembled, his long fingers tangling in the blanket. Without a pause, Chastity took his hand in hers and bent down close to his ear whispering, "Hush now, don't fret. You need to rest."

Erik writhed under the covers. "I am so sorry … Christine … please … I did not mean … to hurt you … " He was begging, with a voice physically raw and broken. It tore my heart that he should be tormented by her memory now when he desperately needed peace.

Running her fingers through his hair, Chastity cast me a very brief glance. "He keeps crying out to this … Christine. Who was she?"

I swallowed. How much did I dare reveal? Erik wanted so desperately to leave all that behind him. "She … she was a women he cherished with all his heart. A women he died for." It sounded strange and yet it was the closest to the truth.

Chastity nodded, her fingers caressing Erik's scalp as he continued to murmur out snatches of barely connected words. "This Christine, what did she call him? Did she have a special name for him?"

My shoulders fell as I remembered Erik's greatest sin. The name escaped me. "Angel. He … he was her Angel of Music."

With a purpose, Chastity bent so close to his ear her hair cascading down to brush against his face as she whispered. "Erik, hush now. Whatever you have done you are forgiven, my Angel. You must rest. Lie still and just rest. I am here, my Angel."

I was jolted by her words, gasping out, "Don't lie to him! For heaven's sake, whatever you do don't deceive him!"

She paid me no heed, continuing to brush her fingers through his hair tenderly. "Shh. Don't fret, don't fuss. I forgive you."

He sobbed, "I poisoned … us … it was … my fault … so blind … so blind … "

"We both shall live." There was a confidence behind those words. "Just close your eyes and sleep."

It was working. Erik's writhing began to still, his eyelids losing the panicked tension. When he ceased his ranting, I watched as she held a shallow bowl of broth to his lips, patiently waiting as he took clumsy sips from it. At long last his eyes fully closed. She continued to hold his hand.

Witness to this strange event I stood in awkward silence, a question lingering in my mind that only now I could dare ask, knowing Erik would not hear it.

"You … you now see why he wears the mask. This doesn't … the sight of him doesn't bother you?"

Taking the cloth from his forehead she dipped it into a bowl of water and wrung it out before placing it back without hesitation. "Please, Nadir. In my unfortunate line of work I have been subjected to some horrific sights. Have you ever seen a man ravaged by syphilis? I have had to turn away potential clients who have been malformed by disease in the most grotesque ways." She shrugged, looking up at me with sympathy in her eyes. "I see the unfortunate need for his mask. But when I came up here the first time earlier today all I saw then was a very ill man who needed tending. Tending is something I do."

"I am grateful that you looked after him." I took a shuddering breath as I sorted the words. "But you shouldn't have lied to him."

Climbing off the bed, she padded across the floor to stand before me looking up in earnest. "Nadir, men come to me and pay me to lie to them. To make them believe in some fantasy that eases their burdens. Tell me that it was kinder to allow your friend to wallow in the pain of some regret then whisper the words he needed to hear and I will be forced to call you the cruelest man on earth. I can see that is not the truth about you."

I lowered my eyes in shame, the reality hitting me. What would I do tomorrow? Erik clearly couldn't be left alone if he was drowning in fevered dreams. "Tomorrow … tomorrow … oh Allah, what am I to do?"

Her hand rested on my arm. "Go, find work. I will come up and check on him throughout the day."

I took a step back trying to find a logical reason for this offer.

"You have enough to worry about. Besides … ," she gave Erik an appreciative smile before looking back at me, "he saved my life. I was raised better than to forget such an action and not do the same in return."

Now in the candlelight I thought I saw it, the glimmer of shame in her eyes. The evidence that she had not been born to this lot, but somehow, like us, had stumbled into the mire of the Bowery.


	22. Chapter 22

_**Chapter 22**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

What had brought me here? Of all the dark corners in this vast mirrored wilderness, why was I standing in this dark corner? For reasons unknown to me, I felt eerily calm in this chamber of vivid horrors that I continued to find my consciousness confined to for the interim … or until I died.

In a way, it made sense that I would be thrust here for the lengthy time I could not rise, waiting to be released back into the waking world. For many a decade I had been intermittently haunted by the contents of this unending torture chamber. This was precisely why I kept myself from sleeping for any length of time. Normally this wilderness took time to congeal but, given enough time—it inevitably did. This time the nightmarish world was unrelenting, leaving me to blunder about the scattered memories trying not to look. Some, of course, could not be helped. The cul-de-sac that held her memories … I could not have run fast enough from those mirrors. But why … why had my flight lead me here?

I stared down into the shards of the shattered mirrors. Thousands of shimmering shards lay upon the floor where they had been kicked and shattered. Three racks on their pivots stood empty, the gears and chains in a tangled mess around them. There was no sign of that accursed demon here, nor had there ever been before. This realm had been exclusive before his recent breaching of the walls. As it was, I had no real cause to be worried about a hidden presence. Whatever source permitted him access limited how frequently he could visit. He wouldn't be back for a while. Looking at the damaged mirrors, I felt a slight twinge of relief. What had I done? What were these memories my desperate flight had obliterated?

Taking a deep breath I knelt down and began to sift through the wreckage. Perhaps I could reconstruct the mirrors, save the memories from oblivion. Piece after sharp piece I studied the contours, setting them out on the floor in search of some pattern. I had sorted hundreds of pieces in this futile task when I noted a slight reddish tinge growing ever more constant on the edges.

Blood … my blood … my fingers were being cut by the glass.

Stopped by that revelation, I blinked, studying the slow well of the blood as it formed into droplets dripping sluggishly onto the floor. Hands … mirror … blood … bandages … so familiar.

An earsplitting scream issued from the full mirror before me. The sound of terror ripping through the throat of a young boy. I was so startled by the sound, my eyes flashed up before I could brace myself. All the impact of that long ago day struck me like a blow to the chest!

Inside the confines of the large mirror was a small boy—me! I could have been no older than five years, though that was only a guess. My mother held my thrashing body fast, berating me before her mirror for having presented myself without the mask. She had mercilessly shown me why that could not be tolerated.

The small figure before the mirror did not run away. Instead, gripped by a primal fear that plagues me to this day, his fists assaulted the pane of glass, pummeling shards into tender young skin in a savage fury. Her face … my God, her face! There was no comprehension of what she was doing! Just the anger at his disobedience!

Staggering back from the memory, I instinctively covered my face, trying desperately to see no more of this. My back collided with the pane of another mirror and before I could stop myself I toppled through the surface. I rolled onto the floor, sealed into the scene.

I held my breath not daring to want to learn what my scrambling had trapped me in. The wood planking beneath my hands was frighteningly familiar. Oh no … not the attic bedroom. Not that dark room she had shuttered me in out of shame for the first years of my life. I hated this room! There had been other rooms in the house, warmer rooms on the proper floors of the house—yet she had confined me alone up here. Even my earliest memories in a cradle were in this dusty chamber.

" _Erik."_

I shuddered at her voice. If she was up here, if she was in this room … it could only be a handful of events. Please not the exorcism! It was bad enough the first time.

" _This mask will protect you."_

Slowly I straightened up staring across at the room. He lie the bed, outlined in the shafts of sunlight drifting through the attic shutters. The young naïve boy I had once been. His thickly bandaged hands groped towards the mask. He could not put it on fast enough. She had not bound the wounds, she had been unwilling to touch him, leaving him to lie in the puddle of his own blood. It had been her friend who had carried him here, sopped up the blood and removed the slivers of glass.

" _Wear this and it will protect you. You will never see that monster again."_ She stood up, crossing the floor to abandon her son.

"You lying bitch!" I shouted as she passed me. Climbing to my feet I hunched forward overwhelmed with the desire to throw her backwards into the room. But she would not see me. I was just an intruding figment in this memory. "How could you say that? Do you know what you have done to me with those words? It is a dreadful lie!"

Without a glance she shut the door. The door I now threw myself at, pounding it in my fury. "What have you done! Did you ever stop to even think about it? Or did you just walk away and forget about me? Pretend I did not exist! Your little beast! You think I never heard that? I did, Mother! Do you know what that did to me? All I ever wanted … " The wish died in my throat as I leaned against the door my head bowed. She would never hear me. My ranting was so futile.

I don't know why but I took a deep breath and sank down to the floor, twisting my back against the locked door. Across the room in the small bed he was lying there … I remembered lying there feeling the familiar pressure of the mask against my skin. "She says it will be your shield. But do not believe her ignorant lies. Oh Erik, if I could protect you from what is to come. If I only could open your eyes to the truth of the world, perhaps the scars would not cut so deeply. It is not a shield. It is a crippling crutch that bars you. Everything is filtered through it … everything. Nothing is reality."

My head fell to my chest. Thoughts swirled so rapidly I could not sort them. "The world is a harsh place and I know your heart right now—I know your intentions are pure! She does not understand, and she will not understand. Oh, one day she will, but it will be too late! You will be gone, and the damage already festering within, poisoning every action you take for the rest of your life. That is your fate."

Grasping my upper arms, I held them to my chest. "I wish I could change that path. But even after all these years I still do not see another way … I am so sorry for the chain reaction. If only she had told the truth to you. If she had truly understood you … " My breath held in my chest for a moment. " … understood me.

"You will have to be strong. Stronger than the will of man if you ever hope to live. The roads are brutal, humanity so mercilessly cruel, the trials are unending … but you will survive, often wishing you had not. Other men will stare in awe at the skills that are only being laid in foundation now … the very skills that mean the difference between life and death, the skills that set you apart from the rest of humanity. They mean nothing. The blood sweat and tears you pour into defying the laws that govern man amount to nothing in the end, because they will not see you." I balled my fists. "They only see the monster! The monster she says you are safe from! He never leaves! That monster is you!"

The soft voice, so innocent and unburdened by the years reached me. I looked up to find him sitting in the bed looking at me intently. "Why are you crying?"

His eyes, it pained me to see their purity, before the world had tainted them so... twisting and distorting reality. I could not look away.

"You will learn." I whispered. "One day … you will learn."

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Her door opened just after I knocked. Back-lit by the candles in her room, Chastity finished drawing a brush through her hair. She greeted me with a smile.

"How was he today?" I had only just come downstairs having found him locked in a fevered sleep. There were still no signs of sweating, meaning his body was still fighting to restore what it had lost. A troubling revelation.

"Most of the day he was fairly quiet. Only a few moments where he became frantic." She studied me before reaching out to take my hand and drawing me into the room. "You look tired. Come in for a bit."

"But I need to … "

"I got a decent amount of broth in him today. He needs to rest." She shut the door behind us guiding me further into her cluttered apartment. "You don't need to be up there alone, fretting."

She gestured toward the edge of her bed. Unlike our room, hers was arranged with the more _business end_ out in the middle of the room. Heavy curtains that could be drawn shut covered the tall window. My knee ached and without even thinking much I hobbled over and sat down, rubbing the joint. "Nice place you have here." It was small talk in the uncomfortable silence and really a terrible lie. Her place was no more hospitable than ours.

She handed me a small glass of cheap whiskey, holding one for herself. "You were nipping some from a bottle the other night. Go on, this isn't the best but it is good to warm the spirit on a cold night."

I had to laugh a little in spite of myself. "Just what Erik told me on the ship voyage over."

"He's going to get better, Nadir." Lifting the hem of her simple gown she sat on the edge of the bed. "I can tell that you two have forged a deep bond quite a while ago. It's obvious in the way you struggled with the notion of leaving him alone. You are lucky to have one another."

Taking a quick gulp from the glass, I felt it burn as it went down, leaving behind a welcoming warmth. "He's a strange one. Never a dull moment in his company. There was a time when I resented the troubles he caused … then … I found the world dull in his absence."

Lifting her eyes, she studied me intently as if she was searching me for something. "You must have all manner of interesting stories to tell."

"Don't get me started." I lifted a shoulder letting it drop dismissively before partaking of the rest of the whiskey she had offered me. "The things I have seen, some of which I have put to paper, become incredulous." I was proud of that English word, one of the few fancier words Erik had made time to teach me. "But I am not a good story teller in this language. I am sorry."

Her fingers reached out, lifting my chin and forcing me to lock eyes with her. Beautiful, soulful eyes … like my … oh Allah. "You are missing someone very special to you."

I tore my gaze from her, seeking refuge in the patterns of the curtains as I blinked away the tears. "Doesn't everyone miss someone?"

"Someone who was very dear to you." Now she was only whispering softly. "But she is not like his lost love." I saw her gesturing to the ceiling. "Yours is gone from this earth, forever."

My eyes squeezed tight. My beloved … the ache in my chest was enough to cause my hands to clutch it. "My wife … oh how I miss her! So many decades ago she left this earth. She was so warm and gentle. A refuge of honesty in the courts of deceit. So long since I felt her embrace."

A hand snaked up my arm wrapping gently around the back of my neck. Warm and supple the grasp drew me in and I felt my whole body melting into the living embrace. Before I knew it she was lowering me down onto bed.

With a start, I tried to push out of it. But she only shook her head, smiling with sympathy in her eyes.

"Your heart is sick, Nadir. You long for a treasure taken from you." She held a finger to my lips, silencing me. "I told you, I help men to escape into a world of make-believe. For too long your heart has been pining. Now, more than ever, you need this."

"I can't." I tried to move, but my limbs were not obeying me. "He's upstairs, lying there, ill! I shouldn't be down here … with you."

Her finger caressed the skin of my neck and a yearning tremble stole through me as I remembered … oh Allah I remembered that warm embrace! "I'm not asking you to love me, Nadir. That is not what a woman like me gets from men … I am asking that you trust me to give you what you need. A warm embrace, a chance to remember what it was like in her arms. Men who have loved with all their heart show it in their eyes … they so rarely dare to love again."

The breath shuddered in my chest as I closed my eyes, her words resonating within me. When I opened my eyes again I found Chastity patiently waiting for my answer, her finger tracing small circles on my neck. "Say the word and I will take you back to her arms … you have but to say her name."

I could scarcely believe I heard my voice as I breathed out … "Rookheeya … "

Surrendering myself to her embrace I was carried on a tide of merciful ecstasy back to a time when I had not known loss or deception … back when my foolish mind had believed she and I would grow old together.

 _ **~Erik~**_

Aimlessly it seemed, I wandered through the chain choked pathways, the mirror's reflections playing out in an endless array of my memories. Since I had been released from the image of the attic bedroom, an obsession had steadily taken root. I knew the mirrors moved. A simple pull of the chain turned the gears that drove the mechanisms. Everything about this place depended on the angle of reflection. Which mirrors caught one another even by a fraction altered the perspective of the memory suspended within. Over the decades of my life, my meddling hands had gone on a series of foolish bouts of haphazardly turning the gears to horrific results. I had no idea where to even begin to put things back to right, but stuck in this torturous limbo it seemed a good time to try.

The gears screeched when they turned, the heavy chains clattering as they changed each mirror's angle. The great panes of glass each weighed more than I did and were incredibly difficult to maneuver with any precision. I shifted dozens of them in swift succession, watching the effect kaleidoscope further into the wilderness each time. It was never the effect I was looking for. The light never softened. The images never brightened. If anything they grew ever harsher, leaving me to abandon path after path for a fresh approach in another. No matter what combination of adjustments I applied, the methodology always failed.

I had never been defeated so entirely by any challenge in all my life! The frustration of all the effort applied amounting to an exercise in futility drove me onwards as I tried to find some place untarnished by my foolish actions.

Apparently, I had been very thorough.

On the verge of what felt like searching every corridor of this garish wilderness, I trudged forward keeping my eyes locked on the ground. How many times did I have to witness the threats lashed out upon me; knives, whips, hands reaching to strip away the mask? How many times must I recall the feeling of lives extinguished beneath my hands? How many times must I see the inevitable betrayals of those whom I dared to trust?

I hated this place! I detested being forced to remember starkly the events of my past! I would rather lie stone cold dead in the ground than to walk another step in this savage world!

A shudder tore through me … if I died, the levels of hell were waiting for me. I quailed to consider which one I would be confined to for all my sins. I couldn't die now! I'm not ready to die now!

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Wringing the cloth out over the bowl, I heaved a long sigh. Erik looked no better than when I had left him that morning. The only thing that had changed was that his breathing had settled into a slower rhythm. Spreading the cloth over his fevered brow, I kept hoping for his eyes to open. It would be a chance to try and force a little more into his starved body. He had been quieter today so Chastity had told me. I heard her steps behind me. A moment later she held a bowl of broth out to me.

"He doesn't have to be awake," she spoke quietly. "Just hold his head up high enough and his throat will do the rest."

Without looking up, I took the broth from her. Heat still burned on my cheeks as I thought of last night.

"You know, you can look my way." There was a slight hint of amusement in her voice. Out of the corner of my eyes I caught her playing with the frayed lace on her dress. "There is no shame in what we did."

"I … I." Nervously I stole a glance at her. She was blushing, her eyes intently observed me with something else playing in them. That was not pity in her gaze, it was fondness. It did nothing to change how I felt inside. "I'm not sure I should have given in … to that urge … last night."

She laughed, resting a hand on my shoulder. "So self-conscious. Doesn't that get a little thin?" She blanched, her eyes flashing to Erik before she hastily took a step back. "Oh my God, I beg your pardon, that was a poor thing to say."

There was no response on his still features. I shook my head. "He didn't hear you … Chastity," I had to take a deep breath. "I don't know how to go on from here. Everything is so … "

Raising her eyebrows, she smiled softly at me, "Did you like it?"

"I … well … yes!" I blurted out, feeling completely awkward at the admission. It was bad enough to have felt it. To say it was utter betrayal.

She reached a hand down and ran it through my hair. "Good. Because I like you."

Sauntering out of the room, she gave me one last glance over her shoulder before waving good night. She left me completely wordless.

 _ **~Erik~**_

Music carried out. Beautiful and languid, the melody of a solo violin beckoned to me. I knew that music. I knew whence that entire composition came … for I had written it. Drawn to the mirror I stared at the figure confined within. The me of a bygone era from below the Paris Opera. Elegantly attired to attend the performances I would never even be seen at … the time when I lurked in the shadows as the Phantom of the Opera. Standing with rigid confidence, he moved with grace luring the music from the Stradivarius in a passionate dance. It was striking, the sheer power emanating from the man … the ghost I had once been. I had been more than that in those days. To a young chorus girl with extraordinary vocal talent and no courage to use it, I had become her secret mentor—her Angel of Music.

It was my greatest sin. I had lied to her. Through the mirror of her dressing room I had conned her into believing I was the voice of the angel her deceased father had once promised her. She believed with all her heart and through my lessons she explored the true range of her voice. In her possession was an instrument so lovely it rivaled my beloved Stradivarius! I exalted in our stolen time. And in time, the illusion wasn't enough. I had to have her! The moment I had lured her into the dark halls of my solitary kingdom I should have known my mistake. Had I been strong enough to have brought her back to her dressing room before she awoke in my home beneath the fifth cellar, the immense tragedy may have never come to pass. I never would have selfishly forced her to choose between me and another man … I never would have seen the pain in her eyes as I shattered her resolve in my reckless desire to be loved. The only end to the dark road was another deception. The last time she came to me she was made to feel my heart stop, the effects of a concoction that mimicked death. She could go on with her life believing I was no longer in this world. She would never know Nadir had administered the antidote when she left and … I had lived on in regret.

In the mirror the Stradivarius sang out as he played enraptured by the complex movements of my setting of the requiem mass. I distantly recalled the reason I had been playing the piece. The white rose lying upon the piano with a black satin ribbon wrapped in an elegant bow told me. This was right before Christine's debut. I would have just come down from masterfully cowing Carlotta, the company's overrated Prima Donna. The new managers had received my written suggestion of Christine singing the lead that night. They had little choice. Carlotta did not have an understudy. My plan of having taught Christine the role worked flawlessly, as I had known it would. It was to be a triumph! A great joy to hear as she stole the heart of Paris … it was the doorway to my ultimate plummet.

Bowing my head under the introduction cords to the _Confutatis,_ I took in a deep breath laden with sorrow. Something in me stirred, unable to resist the lamenting music that, at my beck and call, had soothed me. Crying out with a parched soul, the Latin words poured through me as never before.

"When the accused are confounded,  
and doomed to flames of woe,  
call me among the blessed.

I kneel with submissive heart,  
my contrition is like ashes,  
help me in my final condition."

At the end of the repetitious movement, when my trembling voice fell silent, I found myself on my knees, folded over, forehead nearly touching the floor. What was I even hoping for? Salvation? My fingers stirred in the dirt beneath them. Dirt? There was no dirt in the mirrored wilderness. The floor was solid, like stone. This floor was not.

Lifting my head I found what I had taken for dirt was fine powdered stone. Walls, a sheer wall reaching up at least a hundred meters comprised of solid stone. Turning my head I realized this wrapped all around me. I was in the bottom of a deep pit. Strewn on the floor were the gears, chains, and mirrors lying in shambles.

Every time I thought I knew the rules of this realm, it seemed to astonish me with some new devious trick. This was not the insides of a mirror. This was something altogether different.

Pushing up off the floor, I felt a curious weight tugging on my shoulders, much heavier than a cloak. I had to mildly contort myself to glimpse the source.

"What the hell?" Two rather large black feathered wings hung limply from the backs of my shoulders, their form looking as though they belonged on a raptor. Under no muscle tension, their wrist joints rested upon the ground, the flight feathers dragging behind. I attempted to lift and fold them … they refused. There was no pain, oddly no sensation other than pressure as I realized the angle of the bones revealed they were both broken, the long bones shattered. Shuffling my bare toes into the thick coating of stone dust, I found this revelation rather unnerving. What a very odd idea to be provided with such a marvelous set of wings and be unable to use them to escape this pit. They were only dead weight to me!

What was this all supposed to mean? Here I was trapped at the bottom of an abysmal stone pit, barefoot and plagued with a massive set of entirely useless wings. Was this some kind of joke?

In the dim light, I caught the outlines of some lettering. Feeling the tug of the wings as I was forced to let them drag behind me, I crossed the wide pit reading the Latin words carved into the wall in my own handwriting.

 _Here lies the Angel of Music, plummeted from his first doomed flight. These walls are but an obstacle for we are the architects of our own heart's desire. From deep within the shadow, cresting on a dream, the spirit knows there is always another way._

All I could do was stare, letting the strange message tumble about in my head. Slowly my eyes began to wander over the contents of the pit. Architect … the word resonated. There, lying amidst the gears, I saw something I had missed. Bending down, I retrieved my mallet and stone chisel, dusting them off as the numbers already began to form inside my head. The critical calculations. The other way … the walls, as they were, were too smooth to just climb. Reading the words one more time, I swallowed hard placing the chisel directly into the _a_ of _heart's_. I drew the mallet back and struck it, feeling the bite into the stone! Alabaster. The hardest damn stone to work with and the mark of a master. If I was going to get out of here I had little choice but to make this impossible plan work!

With each swing of the mallet I felt the shifting of the wings. After the pilot hole was chipped in, as I drove the metal rod from a dismantled mirror rack into the hole I had carved, I was plagued by the aggravation of how much simpler flight would make this. Ramming a gear into place, I went on to the next hole. Soon I had the basics set, a series of gears connected by the long length of heavy chain running a few meters up the wall. Just a fraction of the way … but it was a start. Levering one of the mirrors over, I attached it to the end of the chain and threw my meager weight against the other end. Sweat poured down as I heaved and strained against the weight of the massive mirror rising into the air. Had I more materials to spare I would have made a more efficient pulley system. This load was just at the point where I could take the weight. Locking the gear in place which held the mirror suspended, allowing me to climb up and anchor the first mirror to the wall. The alabaster resisted my dogged efforts.

With two rods rammed into the stone, and the mirror resting on the makeshift platform. From this height, I gazed down into the pit, counting the chain lengths and mirrors, comparing them to the design in my head … I would have to move the gears each time. Reset them as the structure climbed up the wall, and me with it.

There seemed to be no time to delay. Climb after climb, I reached up the ramshackle structure, throwing the mallet into the stone wall to bury a rod I would have to retrieve later to use again higher up. There was no chance of simply driving enough hand and footholds into the wall, or carving stairs into the resilient stone. It would take a combination of scrambling up the length of the tall mirrored panes.

Hauling on the chain pulley, I grunting and panted, struggling to shift the weight of each mirror up to where I needed it. The higher I got the more it seemed the dead weight of the wings hindered me, hanging uselessly without support. My muscles burned with the effort of clinging to the structure forming on the wall. My brain wearied of the constant strain of adjusting the previous calculations. A single mistake and the whole thing might collapse, resulting in far more than broken wings.

It was a long trembling climb up towards the top, the increments growing ever more challenging when … at last … I reached above my head and realized that my fingers were so close to reaching the rim of my prison! Driving the chisel straight into the stone in a breathless panic, I swung the mallet even as the sweat dripped into my eyes.

I drew my arm back and the mallet slid out, falling free into the air despite my attempt to reach for it. "No!" The dead weight of the wing slipping from the platform nearly carried me out into the abyss. Scrambling back towards the safety of the wall I gazed up. I didn't have the strength to climb down a hundred meters and then back up again. I would never make it.

My hand closed around the chisel. It did not shift no matter how hard I pulled. I had to take a chance. Wrenching myself up, I placed my foot upon the chisel trusting it to take my full weight as I slid up the wall with great care. My balance on the thin handle of the tool was precarious as best, gravity yanking and threatening to cast me back downwards. I felt my fingertips grasp the edge of the pit, first one hand, then the other. I could barely reach it. Pulling up with desperation I tried to let my arms take my full weight. They slipped. I scrambled to maintain my hold. Beneath my foot, the chisel's bite was shifting. In a blind panic, I hauled with all my might, fighting to get my forearms above the rim. The weight of the accursed wings kept me in an ever shifting imbalance.

After all this, I could not let it end at the bottom on that pit! My shaking arms reached up over the edge, my chest dragging against the stone. Unable to breathe through the effort I closed my eyes, kicking my feet against the smooth wall below me. Convulsing with the effort, I dragged myself up over the edge the constant pull of gravity easing until at last I rolled over onto my back, coughing and gasping, cradled by the bulk of those useless wings.

A voice, distant, otherworldly penetrated the haze. "His fever is breaking."

I coughed and wheezed, limbs shifting, drenched in a cold sweat that left me shivering so hard my teeth rattled. Something was over my body. When I opened my eyes to the huge crack on the ceiling in the flickering of the candlelight, nothing seemed real. My gaze wandered. It was the room, our room … the bedroom of the apartment. My throat hurt, my body ached like I had climbed a very long distance, perhaps straight out of the pit. But no, that didn't make sense. There wasn't a pit in our bedroom.

Nadir hovered over me, gazing down with a mixture of hope and worry in his eyes. He was remarkably haggard. In his hands I saw a mug. Trying to swallow, I found it impossible as I flailed my hand his way, rasping out, " … water … "

"Here." Without pause he held it my mouth, letting the cold water flow in. Between each desperate swallow I sucked in air, fighting to coordinated the need for both. The burning in my throat, there wasn't enough water in all this earth to relieve it.

Withdrawing the mug from me he watched as I laid back, just breathing. I stared up at the crack on the ceiling. The damn thing. Barely in control of myself I muttered out, "That damn … fissure is … getting wider."

Nadir simply beamed, a tear falling from his eye. He flopped over, wrapping his arms around me and squeezing to the point of discomfort. "You're going to live!"

I tried to squirm, croaking, "Get off me!"

He remained. If anything his grip tightened.

"Nadir!" I rasped out through clenched teeth. "If you do not get off me … I will be forced to hurt you!"

Finally, he relented, rocking backwards with the most embarrassed expression on his face. I glared up at him. At least I think that's what I did. Lifting my arm from the bed I tried to gesture towards the mug when the sight of my arm froze the motion. Staring rudely at the shriveled, sweat drenched flesh clinging to the bones, I hardly believed it was mine. It took the forced flexing of my fingers to identify that in fact … they were mine.

Another hand rested lightly on my shoulder. I rolled my gaze over to find Chastity standing at the bedside, a bowl of soup in her hands. What had I missed? How long had I been lying here? What the hell was going on? Those words couldn't form even as I tried to do something more than mutter.

"Drink."

Did it really matter that she was here? Not anymore. The only thing that mattered was satiating my gut-twisting hunger. I let her hand ease my head up off the pillow as I drank greedily from the bowl.

Tepid broth never tested so good!


	23. Chapter 23

_**Chapter 23**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

"It's only been two days since his fever broke, Nadir." Chastity offered me a confident smile, keeping her voice to a whisper. "He is still going to need a lot of rest."

Stirring the boiling porridge on the stove, I heaved a long sigh trying not to let the frustration enter my voice. "That is the hard part, convincing him of that."

"You don't think how weak he is will be enough?"

Hastily I cut the air with my hand! "Shh! Don't let him hear you say that! You have no idea what he will think of a statement like that!"

One eyebrow raised as she studied me. "Like what?"

I cringed, hoping she wouldn't utter the words again! All she did was laugh quietly while I was afraid to even look into the darkened room to see if Erik was awake. Keeping my own voice down, I explained, "I mean it! He'd take that as an insult, a challenge to his strength! Likely it would spur him into pushing himself to the point of injury."

"That requires the ability to get up out of bed. He doesn't have enough muscle left."

I held up a warning finger. "That will not stop him from trying, Chastity. You don't know him like I do. The single most effective motivator to his mind is someone saying the word _impossible_. The notion of human limitation is beyond him."

Adjusting the shawl that was falling off her shoulder, she giggled. "It's so amusing to hear you speak of him, like he's some sort of … some sort of god."

I held a hand out. "See? I told you. You haven't really gotten to know him yet."

"He thinks he's a god?" She asked incredulously.

While slopping some of the porridge into a bowl to cool, I shrugged. "Not exactly. It's more complex than that and … " I bowed my head in a bit of shame. "I lack the words in this language to explain it." Erik didn't think he was god, or even a demigod as some back in the Persia courts had assumed. Sadly for a time I had shared that view until I came to see what drove him. His genius left no room for conceptual boundaries.

Chastity edged closer, running a hand up my arm to rest upon my shoulder. The pressure was warm and inviting bringing a little heat into my cheeks. "Smile, have a little more confidence in yourself. There … like that! Much better."

I just wanted to fall into the embrace of her arms, to escape the growing chill in our apartment that the stove could not possibly hope to banish. The chill that even now set my teeth chattering. The further back in the apartment one got … the colder the air. The bedroom was cold enough to render breath briefly visible. I would have moved Erik out closer to our only heat source, but I suspected the hard floor would prove to be even more uncomfortable to his emaciated body. Instead, I had piled on whatever fabric I could find until I feared the weight of it might prevent him from drawing a breath. He had complained about the pressure. Then again, he was complaining about everything at the moment.

Clearing my throat, I threw a quick glance into the darkened bed chamber. Had there been a light in there, I could have seen Erik from this angle. I had the odd sensation of being watched. Perhaps it was my guilt. Casting my gaze to the floor I turned and picked up the candle and the bowl of cooling porridge. "Thank you for keeping an eye on him today, Chastity. I'll see to him now."

She covered her hurt feelings well, offering me a tightly controlled curtsy as she left the apartment.

Edging into the room, I watched the flicker of the candlelight catch in his eyes as they observed me entering. Lying flat on his back with his head on a pillow, he glanced at the bowl in my hand. With that scowl on his face, I wished he were wearing the mask if only because his current condition deepened the contours of his deformity making it hard for me to look at him without grimacing.

"Something a little different tonight." I set the candle holder on the nightstand. His eyes followed my every move. "Let me help you sit up against the pillow and we can see how much coordination you have regained."

He was muttering under his breath even as he edged his elbow in an attempt to rise off the bed. It was a task doomed to failure due to Erik's lack of muscle tone. All it really produced was a string of obvious curses in some obscure dialect.

Oh, he was in a foul mood!

I didn't bother to acknowledge the profanity. Instead, I merely reached under the pile of blankets and cloaks to help him shift, even though I was doing most of the lifting. In the chill of the room I heard his teeth chattering, thankfully not from a fever this time. It was legitimately cold in here. He took in a deep breath and was about to exhale in frustration when a dry cough aborted the expression.

I waited for it to subside before setting the bowl in his lap. "Here, this might help with your raw throat."

Taking the spoon, he lifted it from the bowl, watching the porridge slide from it and land with an audible slap. "What is this?" All the elegance and richness of that once angelic voice was completely obliterated. What remained was weak, a pain-filled rasp emitted through force. I doubted he could get much beyond a whisper without a coughing fit stopping him.

"Just eat, Erik. You need your strength."

He stabbed the boiled grains repeatedly, watching the slurry mess sliding off the spoon with obvious distaste. "I am not sure this is actually food."

It was my turn to scowl. "That's all there is at the moment. You can eat it or starve. As you are, that second option would be very unwise."

After another stab into the bowl he lifted a bit out and shakily managed to get the spoon on the right path. He hardly looked thrilled, but hunger was getting the better of him. Coordination was indeed a struggle for him, but he seemed capable of feeding himself.

"Thank Allah you are coming to your senses!" I heaved a sigh. "I will never understand why you did this to yourself."

The vehement stare that greeted my unfortunate words left me speechless. Erik croaked, "I told you why. Should not have as you do not believe me. But I told you."

Pulling back my sleeve, I looked at the faded bruises on my arm. I shuddered at the memory of his fingers grasping me, the vacant look in those eyes.

"Ignoramus." He was watching me, his eyes taking in the outline of the hand. "I know you heard the stories back in Persia. You knew the risk of approaching me in that state and yet you tried? You of all people should have known the danger!" He had made the mistake of letting his voice rise above the whisper, racked with a coughing fit, it left him gasping for air.

"What was I to do?" I retorted, clenching my fists. "Maybe if you didn't subject yourself to a trance where no one can approach you … I was made to watch you starve yourself, Erik! For what purpose? To fight some imaginary demon you ridiculously believe is possessing you? You are normally more logical than that!"

"Careful." Erik warned, taking far more caution in the volume of his voice. "The next time you make an oath to your Allah think again about the idea of an entity. How different is it really, be it god or demon?"

"Erik … "

He held up a hand as he caught his breath. "No. If there is a god there must always be a devil. Think before you answer."

Whether or not he held merit in his perspective didn't matter, he was too ornery to listen to reason. Bowing my head I muttered, "Fine. But if this is so … this demon, if it is real, why do this to yourself?"

Laying his head back, Erik closed his eyes. His voice carried a note of weariness, such as when he was teaching me English and had to repeat a word for the hundredth time. "Because if I do not lock off all conscious control of my body _he_ can wrest control from me. I can only let the survival instincts remain. By forcing the trance _he_ cannot hope to succeed in reigning if I can outlast him."

"And if you died of thirst in the process?"

He replied levelly, "then, the world is spared the danger."

"It's hard to swallow."

Picking up the spoon Erik stabbed the porridge again. "So is this."

I rolled my eyes noting that there was a slight tremble invading his movements. That telltale sign that he was in need of his opium. Perhaps that more than anything was the reason he was in such a foul mood.

"Eat it anyway, Erik. I mean it, that is all there is at the moment."

A short while later I was a little surprised to see that he was well on his way to emptying the bowl. Leaving things to silence, I held out my hand for the bowl when the spoon finally scraped the bottom of it. "There. Now isn't that better?"

He eyed me sideways, a strange light in his eyes. "You have been busy of late."

"Well." I shrugged. "We needed money, so of course I had to go out and find work."

"Work is expected." He narrowed his eyes. "Learning a new trade from Chastity is not."

My breath locked in my chest. I could scarcely think! He must have seen us. He must have seen the heat rising on my face when Chastity had touched me. From learning about the concubines in Persia, Erik had openly loathed the idea of a man being intimate with a woman not his wife. It was hardly a stretch of the imagination to see why Erik felt that way. I blanched under his scathing remark.

"Ah, so it is true!" He whispered darkly, even as I bowed in embarrassed confirmation. "What is it with you Persian men and your unchecked desires?"

Turning from him, I fled the room leaning against the wall and wrestling with my roiling emotions. If I was honest with myself, I did have feelings for Chastity. But deep down in my heart I still pined for my late wife, the mother of my deceased son. I had loved her so much that despite my culture's acceptance of men having more than one wife, I never could bring myself to marry again. Where were things going to logically lead with Chastity? I could not marry her. I was far too old and damaged by time. I had made a terrible mistake. Furious with Erik for having pointed this out in such a rude manner, I was close to fleeing the apartment altogether.

"Nadir?" Erik's voice broke into my thoughts. I remained where I was, leaning against the wall around the corner, trying to force down my embarrassment. "Nadir?" The cry became repetitive, gradually more plaintive. He couldn't raise his voice any louder.

I knew what he wanted … no, what he needed. Trapped in bed, the bite of the dragon was rending him apart. If I did not prepare his opium for him soon, the raging desire for it would send him on a downward spiral that would rapidly finish what the dehydration had already begun. Steeling myself, I walked back into the room suppressing my emotions as much as I could.

Erik lay tremoring in the bed, his eyes wide in desperation.

Wordlessly I prepared his pipe, lighting it from the candle. I held it for him, not daring to risk his clumsy hands setting the place on fire. Slowly, the balm took effect and I watched as Erik's tension faded away. It seemed almost like it soothed more than his nerves now, but also blunted the edge of physical pain.

"I never should have introduced you to this." I muttered sadly as I set his pipe aside. "It has only brought you torment."

"No … " He murmured thickly, only a slight crack of his eyes remained. "You brought me peace … "


	24. Chapter 24

_**Chapter 24**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I don't know why I even bothered staring at the smudged pages anymore. Hours had ticked by since my eyes refused to focus. The quill in my left hand wavered with each wayward tremor. Deep in my hollow gut the walls of my stomach rubbed together protesting their lack of employment. That hunger I easily pushed aside, for another chewed more savagely at me. One I fought in desperation to ignore as the clock diligently ticked away—I was running out of time. It had been weeks since I had managed to drag my wasted body from the bedroom. A long grueling fight attempting to put meat back on my bones to make myself presentable, or at least more so.

"Erik." Nadir's voice penetrated my thoughts. I had not even heard him enter from the worklines. He was early, another day of rejections. "Erik, I know you are dreadfully busy, but well … there isn't a scrap of food in the entire apartment. I thought you were going to fix that after securing the contract earlier this afternoon."

The voice faded from over my shoulder as I did not spare the Persian even a glance. My unfocused eyes still fixed on the blurred lines that this morning I would have sworn were my salvation. Did I dare to tell him the single candlestick guttering on the shoddy desk was our last? My fist clenched the quill before discarding it, letting the sweat-caked feather fall upon the draft. I barely noticed the dance as it fell thanks to the frozen clouds of my breath hanging in the air. Gripping the edge of the desk, I took a few tense breaths before I muttered, "It is far from the only thing we are out of."

In the silence, I heard his throat work as he forced himself to swallow. "When was the last time?"

A shudder ripped through me, deep enough to push the breath from me. "Too—long—ago."

Grimly, I noted his voice had come from the same place as before. He hung in the threshold of the room, still affording him quick access to the door of our apartment. Oh hell was I weary of this wretched dance, always close to the breaking point.

"You need to—"

"There is none to take!" I snarled as my hand seized the small wooden casket and threw it across the room with such violence the lid remained splintered at my feet even though the base struck the wall beside Nadir. Leaning heavily on the desk I lost the fight to keep my breathing measured. Everything was on fire within me, scorched by the absence of the balm that opium usually provided.

Cautiously, he bent down and with woolen gloved hands picked up the shattered planks of wood. The chattering of his teeth told of his passage towards the desk where he placed them, an action meant to disguise his stolen glance at my eyes. "Erik. You cannot function without it. Already there are serious si—"

"Signs of withdrawal! I know! Of course I know! I have been through this before!" The intensity of his gaze forced my eyes closed as I felt another wave slamming against my resolve. Through clenched teeth I declared, "You have no idea the lengths I would go to for a single breath of that smoke right now!"

"Oh no. I do know what you might do and that is precisely what frightens me." His inquisitive gaze searched the desk. "Where is it … Erik, the contract … where is the contract? It was all but assured!"

My hands convulsed intermittently into fists as I fixed him with a level stare. Each breath left me like a charging bull. I held out a small chip of marble. His eyes traveled to the small stack of them on the corner of the desk. There was without fail one of these waiting outside every potential client's meeting that I had been rejected from. In essence, all of them. It was a strange coincidence I had rapidly recognized! "You mean the one that was stolen from me this afternoon before I even met the client?"

Already pale from months of surviving on the fringe of starvation, the color drained even more from his cheeks. "But that advance was going to … "

I finished for him. "Feed us through the winter." As well as take care of other rather critical needs. Seizing the end of the wool scarf around my neck, I removed my mask long enough to sop up the sheet of sweat that glazed beneath it. Sweat that was crystallizing into frost on my skin.

"What are we going to do now?" He gasped.

"Starve to death." Gripping my elbows, I had no choice but to let the tremor tear through me. "But I do not think you have to suffer that long. I shall most likely kill the both of us once the first wave of hallucinations hit!"

There was that audible swallow. A glimmer of sweat beading on his skin despite the frigid air as his eyes flashed wide. "The stone quarry you purchased that drained the last of the resources. Surely there must be something you can do … sell the quarry?"

I fixed him with a stern glare. "Sell back the foundation of Shadowcrest Industries before I have chance to finish even one building? Not on your life! I shall have to try and convince Cheliche to award his contract for their summer home to me."

"Cheliche? But didn't he say he wanted to feel something in stone built by your hands before he would even talk to you?"

The wood cracked beneath my fist as I drove it into the desk. "Then I shall have to build something un-commissioned!"

"On your own?" His hand hovered in the air between us. Grappling with his next words, he took a step back. "How? By tomorrow, even with your strength, you'll be a trembling wreck from the withdrawal. There is nothing on that desk that is even close to being developed enough to construct, save what you had prepared for the contract we were depending on."

I didn't want to hear it. "Somehow I will do it! Before the first snow fall, I will present Cheliche with a work of my own that he cannot ignore. Do not dare to suggest for a moment that I tell him about the Paris Opera!"

But, something else invaded his troubled stare. Flicking his eyes to the dingy window he pointed hesitantly. "How long since you looked outside?"

No … no, it couldn't be! Through the film of soot a cascade of heavy snow descended. My hands drifted up to entangle in my disheveled hair, reminding me I was dreadfully in need of a haircut. Every waking moment since I freed myself from the confines of bedrest, I fought to get a claw hold in the new world. It had all been in vain. The frozen ground accepting snow announced an end to the building season. I felt my knees threatening to give out.

Nadir's hand gripped my shoulder. He held out a bottle before me. "I know this isn't opium. But maybe it will help, at least a bit."

Disdainfully, I snatched it from his hand. "You think a little whiskey will dull the pain? Dampen my temper? Chase off the memories? You are a bigger fool than I ever fathomed!"

Apparently, so was I. For I found myself taking a rather generous portion of his burning vice. Of course, it had no effect more than giving my angry stomach something to contemplate rejecting. Staring blindly at the bottle, I drew in a deep breath and held it … just as I would have a lung full of opium. Remember what it felt like to have that inside, remember the calming sensation … but the memories only mocked me.

 _Cree-CRACK!_

Startled out of my stupor, I darted through the tight doorway, the bottle of whiskey sloshing in my grasp. Rays of white light banished the darkness from the windowless bedroom even before I could discern how. Winter had welcomed itself through the roof of the building. The storm had dropped a solid blanket of slush over the bed with more wet flakes slapping through the hole in the collapsed ceiling.

My grip on the bottle tightened as I bellowed, "I told him. No less than four times I told that useless excuse for a landlord that the cracking in the ceiling was a sign of imminent failure and yet every time he told me I was just a fool! With how much he charges for this hovel?"

 _Thump thump thump!_ "Shut up!" Muted by the wall a neighbor shouted the moment I took a breath.

Glowering at the wall, I hefted the glass bottle above my head contemplating just where I wanted to shove each shard.

"No we don't." Procuring the would-be weapon from my grasp, Nadir carefully pulled me out of the room attempting to close the door behind us. A cold draft stretched out across the floor.

Yanking the sleeve of my threadbare dress jacket from his hands, I snapped, "I have to get out of here."

"There's a storm outside. With that kind of sleet falling you'll be drenched to the bone in moments! You are raving! Are you trying to invite some illness of the lungs to take you?"

"Maybe!" I shrugged into the thickest cloak I had. My hand brushed against the mask, a quick assurance that in my crazed state of mind I hadn't neglected that much. "I do not care how, but one way or another I am getting out of this stinking Bowery! Death would be a change I would welcome." Slamming the door behind me, I found the knob still within my grasp. It wasn't my strength that had done it, splinters of dry-rotted wood had accompanied it.

The squeal of hinges filled the hall, followed by a shout from the neighbor. "You! Keep it down!"

It is you who need to keep it down! Spinning on my heel I threw the doorknob in his general direction. The device slammed against the plaster walls with enough force to break through leaving the man to stare in shock at the new peephole in his wall. He was fortunate my hands had not grasped my knife.

Bounding down the stairwell, I felt the rumbling of the elevated train shaking the building. Likely that would make the hole in my ceiling only the wider. I shoved the door to the outside hard against the wall, flexing my hands as I darted out into the stinging sleet.

Beneath my feet the sloppy mess splashed out at all angles. My cloak grew heavier by the moment, but at least now I could blame the cold for the shivering. That icy grip of winter was almost a welcome bite against the fire blazing inside me.

Almost.

I aimlessly wandered the storm torn streets of the Bowery, a heartbeat away from utter disaster. The building season was over. My dwindled resources were beyond the brink. In the past I had found myself in dire straights before, but it had only been my singular fate that rested on their outcome. My gravest concern now was Nadir. This was not how I had planned things at all! Contracts should have been rolling in and yet I had found only slammed doors in my face with the strange stone chips beside them. I had envisioned us moving out of this abysmal tenement by now, not on the brink of losing the roof over our heads. Well, what was left of it.

Shuddering from the muscle spasms moving through me, I pushed onwards almost hoping that some horse-drawn cart would end it all before the landlord threw us out on the street for being unable to pay rent. Where would we live? Inside the quarry?

A wave of dizziness let gravity throw me against the wall of a building. A combination of starvation, exposure, and undeniably opium withdrawal. I had to shut my eyes as my body threatened to contort itself in new and unfounded ways. I had to find someway to get my hands on something close to opium before I was reduced to a twitching wreck. Gulping in the stinging air, I concentrated hard on pushing back the rebellion inside me.

A scent … drifting on the wind. It was very distinct. And to my ravenous desire for it my head snapped up. Salvation?

Footprints in the snow … ridges providing the telltale clues of the passage of several men on foot. Elongated and slashed into the filthy street beneath the slush there was no doubt it was haste. Peering into the alley three figures were in the midst of a rather one-sided brawl. One man restrained another while the third prepared to administer a beating. With his back to me, the assailant was none-the-wiser as I crept through the snow, drawn toward the lingering scent of opium emanating from him. It was like my body knew. Suddenly I found I had complete control over myself, driven toward satiating that primal need.

"I can't get what you want if I am dead!" The restrained man cried out in Italian. "Think this through!"

Drawing back his hand, the assailant laughed. "We've given you time, Gallo. All the time you should have required. Now it's time to pay in blood what you could not in money."

"I only have so much blood." He struggled to find purchase in the snow, closing his eyes in anticipation of the blow.

"More than enough. Your time is done, Gallo."

"Wrong." I waited only long enough for the man to turn his attention from his intended victim. The moment his head turned towards my voice, I looped my Punjab cord around his neck and gave it a savage yank. The sound of the cartilage crackling as his windpipe collapsed filled the alley. Unceremoniously, his body fell into a heap at my feet.

Taking advantage of the stunned man holding him, Gallo twisted out of the hold and drove his fist up into the bridge of his nose. Characteristically there was no scream as the man's breath locked within his chest. It was a cheap shot, but one that gave him enough advantage to seize the head and give it a violent twist, freeing him of the imminent threat.

Breathing hard Gallo rubbed his knuckles, wide-eyes roving over the bodies that lay between us.

I released the tension on the cord and dropped it back into concealment in my pocket. Without further delay I feverishly searched the body of the man I had dispatched. Carelessly slipping jewelry from his person, anything of value, I heard myself muttering away about how much I might be able to get for it … what it would buy. The opium, where was the opium? Frantically, I produced my blade and began to cut into the seams of his already searched pockets hoping to discover some secret stash.

"I know it must be here somewhere!" The trembling, it was already starting anew even as my vision blurred. I was going to die before I could relieve this torment!

A thin layer of snow was building on the rapidly cooling corpse before a voice broke through my panicked cries. "Thank you, for saving my life."

I barely acknowledged him, hastily tearing into the last pocket.

"Hey, easy there. Don't think he has what you are looking for." He whistled softly, a quick motion of his hand caught my attention. Even in the blur of my vision I recognized the shape of the blessed poppy cake. Scrambling on trembling limbs, my feet failed to find purchase in the sleet covered alley, dumping me in a heap in the slush.

"Give it to me!" I demanded, dragging my knees through the snow.

He pocketed the cake with a handful of other items from the body beside him, before offering a hand to help me up. "Well, if you aren't a raging addict then I'm not Italian. Not here, I know a quiet spot we can both catch a quick breath."

The exertion had accelerated things leaving my limbs to tangle and twitch. I was close to being nothing more than a babbling heap in a corner. Only by his assistance was I able to stagger half blind into an abandoned building. Staring at my shaking hands, I leaned against the wall, intermittent whimpers escaping me.

A crude makeshift pipe appeared before my eyes, the sweet scent of that balm drifted into the crisp air. Snatching it from his hands, I inhaled deeply, letting it fill the expanse of my lungs completely. My eyes shut … keep it all in. Every last tiny bit. It physically hurt I held myself still for so long. When at last I relented to the need to exhale, the worst of the tremors had begun to subside.

"Oh God." Gravity gripped my head, the plume of sweet smoke drifting up from the cake into my masked face as I hung there yearning for the full relief. His hands reached for the pipe which I hastily withdrew.

"Easy, friend." He held up his hands, a casual grin on his face. "Was just going to help adjust your grip so you didn't get burned. You can drop the hostile glare, I owe you my life for the distraction you provided. Weren't for you, the world would know no more of Antonino Gallo."

Adjusting my fingers away from the glowing embers in the bowl I took another deep draw off the fumes before leaning back against the wall, just breathing slowly. As the burning ebbed now from inside my limbs, I realized only then just how badly I depended upon this vice. "I did not do it to save you." Holding up the pipe I shrugged shamefully.

Gallo laughed so hard his whole body shook. "That became obvious when you strip searched the man hired to kill me. Now, I have seen men with the itch before, but you, my friend … that was a whole new level." Studying me for a long moment he cracked a grin. "That was once a fine suit. You must have been accustomed to the good stuff."

Fingering the sodden lapel of my jacket, I rolled a shoulder. "It is true, this has seen many days. Many more than it should have since I entered this accursed country wearing it." Wasn't this the very suit I had been wearing when Nadir and I crossed the Atlantic, concealed in the cargo hold of that ship? Yes, I would have sworn this was the same one. By now I did not have much choice in what I wore.

He clicked his tongue, glancing at his now swelling knuckles. "Men have seen better days than these, for certain. Times have been wretched of late in this area. How long ago did you arrive?"

Leaning over the pipe, I breathed in and out feeling my body drifting on the tide of the sweet smoke. "A year. It has been a year struggling to find some meager way to make a living."

Gallo hung his head with a sigh. "Not much work for anyone of late. Least not a fellow like me. Been a bit of a task just to keep out of the hands of the law."

"The law does nothing to keep men from stealing in broad daylight." I snapped. What was compelling me to speak so freely to this man? Oh yes, that's right. A ripple of laughter escaped me, born from the dragon's breath. Cupping a hand over my mouth, I struggled for composure. "I do not mean to laugh at your situation. It is … "

He nodded, flicking a finger toward the crude pipe in my hands. "I know. On some occasion I have been known to use that. Not nearly as much as you seem to need it." With a shrug he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Each their own. Every fellow these days seems to have some vice or another. Be it something like opium, or tossing the ol' dice. Worse in some cases, some fellows like to steal other people's business."

"Shameful." I replied dryly, taking a small breath off the pipe. Thankfully, my senses had begun to level to a point where I was functioning again, not clawed at constantly by some infernal dragon.

"High society gentlemen, they call themselves." Gallo stabbed the air with his finger. "Yet they employ the most underhanded tactics of all. Heard just today that some poor new fellow had a promising career ended up cast aside because the current aristocrat in Manhattan didn't want to share. Rather than doing an honest bidding on a project, he forged a letter that the other architect had canceled the meeting. Less than an hour later, VanHollus presented himself on the client's front porch to steal the contract. If you ask me, that is a low blow."

Far swifter than I had intended, I launched myself to my feet. Feet that were not yet ready to take direction from my addled brain. My limbs struggled to hold me upright, the wall accomplished more of that, as I growled, "VanHollus? VanHollus! I will string up that backstabbing thief with my own hands!"

Holding onto to my arm, his wide eyes studied me. "That was you?"

"He's the one who stole my contract! The one who has been leaving the stone chips!" I staggered back, my now empty hands flexing in anticipation of VanHollus's neck between them. "He will rue the day he vexed me!"

Gallo released a little snigger. "I'd love to see that, the ass deserves it."

"You will." I took a deep breath trying to clear my head, restore a little balance. If I was going to accomplish anything I needed to be able to walk straight. "Oh, I cannot repay you now, my friend. But I assure you, one day soon I shall. You say that there is not much calling for a man of your skills? Not so, says I! I have need of them. Sharp eyes and keen ears." Holding up a finger before him, I offered a conspiratorial wink. "You shall have plenty of work through me!"

Scratching his head, he offered me a shrug. "Whatever you say ...Signor."

Executing a short bow, I extended my hand to him. "Erik. Monsieur Erik. Now if you will excuse me, I still have time to deal with that pompous thorn in my side."

He grasped my hand and left something behind in it. The remainder of the opium. "In thanks for saving my life. You need this more than I, Frenchman."

It vanished from my hand, in the blink of an eye, tucked safely out of sight. The small amount would not last me long, but perhaps long enough. "I will find you again, Signor Gallo. Be vigilant."

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Remarkable!" Reed uttered half to himself. He held up to the light the forged note he had been given harshly informing him I canceled my meeting earlier. Beside it, he held the elegant piece of parchment he had watched me write. "Pardon me, Monsieur, but I had no reason to suspect foul play upon receipt. Had I but known you were … " It was but a glance to the quill in my hand.

"Left handed." I finished for him, doing my level best to banish the anger from my tone. "Your oversight is forgivable. It seems we were both victims of a terrible prank. A folly I was made privy to earlier this day after I had been dismissed by your footman."

"Once more my apologies. Had I but been informed of this … " He stared at the plain writing with a right hand slant and shook his head. "Great Heavens, what a travesty. And here I am put to pains to make this right."

"Simple enough." Releasing the quill to it's holder I steepled my fingers. "This man, this VanHollus, clearly intended to steal this contract. Such an appalling manner of tactics speaks of a lack of confidence in his own skills."

Reed suddenly sat upright, adjusting his spectacles. "Monsieur Erik, take care of how you speak. I can assure you he is a most influential man."

I permitted myself a low chuckle. "That it plainly obvious, Mister Reed. By the way he bent you into his trap. Tell me, had you lost his favor of late?"

Blush spread across his cheeks like a fever.

"Ah ha, indeed."

"How … how did you know?"

I waved a hand dismissively. "Men of power and influence always tire of their toys and cast them aside. That is, until they become useful again."

Reed cocked his head for a moment, studying me as I let the silence draw out. He clapped his hands twice and a servant entered the formal parlor with a tray bearing two glasses of burgundy wine.

Hospitality. At long last I was able to wrap my fingers around the stem of fine glassware and savor the elegance I had missed far more than I would ever admit.

"Take care whom you do business with, Reed. I trust this VanHollus offered to take my appointment and the contract for your new conservatory?" There was a slow nod. "Have you the plans?"

It was his turn to chuckle. "Monsieur Erik, he only took a glance at the entrance where it shall be located. The plans will not be ready for another few days at the least."

Setting the empty glass aside, I lifted a hand. "If you will but provide me with some parchment, a quill and some ink, it should be my pleasure to see where you desire this addition and offer my suggestion."

"Now?" He looked positively incredulous.

I merely nodded.

It was a short stroll through his Gothic mansion. A lovely piece of work tastefully constructed within the last five years or so from the look of it. I was partial to Beaux Arts, but when Gothic was handled with as light of a touch as this, the effects could be stunning. Reed had good taste.

At the back of the mansion a large archway framed in fine stained glass windows provided entrance to a vast patio, now covered in a thick slush of snow.

Reed heaved a sigh, "VanHollus said the archway would need to go."

Already I was making measurements; the height and width of the door, the existing size of the patio. "Dimensions?"

"I … well … work with the existing space. You can see the edges of the garden where the leaves poking through the snow."

"Existing garden inside the new enclosure?"

He nodded.

"Right. I imagine you desire it to coordinate with the décor of your mansion." Retreating out of the chill, I unrolled the parchment on a table and immediately set to work. Time ticked by as Reed hovered over my shoulder. I was only vaguely aware of the sound of his open mouthed breathing. By the time I finished, he had grown as pale as the snow outside.

Reed's mouth moved as he picked up the draft and held it up against the distant door frame, entirely agog.

I flicked my hand in the air. "Now, that is a paltry sketch. I trust you can see the vague idea of the structure.

"Can you, … can stone be worked that thin?" His eyes traced the fine veins of stone between the glass panes. Elegant arches and curves playing together to form a garden of stone and glass.

"But of course. There are tricks to doing such a thing."

"And your stone mason … you are certain he can sculpt this?"

Stiffly I turned to him, looking him square in the eyes for the first time. "I assure you, I know the level of my own skills."

"This looks so remarkable. This section here, the decoration about the arch looks directly as though it came from the Paris Opera. Are you familiar with the building?"

"Intimately." Shifting my weight I cleared my throat. "If your eyes are telling the truth, you are feasting on the design."

He could not have nodded swiftly enough. "Monsieur, this is astonishing. It is as though you had seen the design in my head."

I stroked the stone pillar beside me. "Your mansion whispered to me what you desired, Mister Reed. The stone always speaks to those who listen."

Reaching over, he picked up a little bell and rang it. Not a moment later the footman entered.

"We shall be having a guest for dinner this evening. See that everything is prepared."

"Right away, Sir."

Reed rolled up the parchment and tapped the tattered lapel of my jacket. "Come, Monsieur Erik, I hope you won't find me rude in discussing business over dinner. But I cannot wait to finalize the plans for your contract."

A lift of my chin in mock surprise. "What of VanHollus?"

"You have preserved my arch. I have no interest in seeing a plan that demolishes it. How much would you need in advance?"

The level of control I required to maintain my manners was immeasurable. All I displayed for Reed was a smile as we proceeded to the dining hall.

Victory was mine!


	25. Chapter 25

_**Chapter 25**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

My breath rolled in the frigid air before my eyes as I opened them to the late afternoon sunlight. Too depressed from the day-labor lines, I had dragged myself up the steps and fallen into the hammock Erik had fashioned from the remains of the rag stuffed mattress. There had been no salvaging the crushed frame beneath the fallen ceiling. The slush sodden mattress fared a little better, the half rotted innards served to block the draft from the useless bedroom. Erik's blade cut the top and bottom apart, providing one hammock for each of us stretched between the corner of the room. These would have to suffice until the ceiling could be repaired. Days had passed since the landlord had been notified of the collapse. Days of no response.

I shifted beneath the ragged blanket, thankful to have its warmth rather than the cloak Erik had resigned himself to. Winter winds howled against the windowpanes. Rubbing my hands together, I curled up tighter feeling the hammock swing beneath me. Could I just lay here for the rest of my life? With a sigh I sat up holding the blanket as a barrier against the chilly air.

He was a dark silhouette against the window, and had been for the last few days. Ever since Erik had returned from that strange outburst he had been stoic. I had not gotten a single word from him. It had taken my teeth chattering in the corner to stir him to a solution for the draft. In those motions I saw a simmering fury. A fury I feared that kept me treading carefully.

My eyes caught the signed contract on his desk. Did I dare to unroll it and glimpse? Was it enough to support us through the winter? He had said nothing of it even when I inquired.

Shuffling across the floor, I poured myself a mug of weak tea and choked it down, hoping for warmth. Erik must have been moving at some point, I had not brewed this.

His hand stirred, manipulating an object between his fingers. Those eerie eyes of his stared off into the distance, with a restless calm that spoke volumes. A predator lying in wait. But for what?

On the sill he had stacked them … stone chips. Dozens of them formed the suggestion of a building. Between his fingers, he spun the last one.

I cleared my throat. "Seems a bit small for any client to be impressed."

Briefly, the stone ceased its turmoil before resuming once again.

What had I been hoping for? Such a simple just never penetrated Erik's black moods. For some reason I wanted to hear a sound from him. Something. Some assurance that he had not slipped into an entirely feral state. Reaching forward, I plucked a stone from the top of the structure watching the daylight sparkle off the marble. "Is this good quality stone?"

His hand tightened into a fist around the chip he possessed. It was only for a second but his lip curled into a brief snarl before he forced it back to neutrality. "I should say it is." A few tense breathes filled the silence. "They were stolen from **my** quarry."

"What?" Indeed, taking a close look at them they appeared to have come from the same cut of stone … at least to my eyes. To Erik he would have seen the more subtle clues. I had yet to venture up to his quarry. "Are you certain?"

The stare bored me into silence. There was no refuting his claim.

His palm slammed the stone into the sill, demolishing the little building. "Some insolent ass had the gall to pilfer stone from my property and then leave it as a calling card before every contract stolen from me. This humiliation was intentional!"

"I dread the day you learn the identity of that man," I whispered.

Erik stiffened, his eyes focusing on the world outside the window. "I already know."

Spinning on his heel, he dashed for the doorway. His cloak flew behind him waving farewell as I scrambled to catch up. I was far too slow, even driven by adrenalin. Erik vanished down the stairwell, murder the last thing shining in his eyes!

"Erik! Come back!" My ribs could not contain my heart. What was he going to do? "Erik!"

 _ **~Erik~**_

My feet could not take me fast enough on the headlong flight. I had waited far too long for this. How much patience can be expected of a man?

I plowed through the drifting snow into the alleyway, following my target. Face to face with Gallo, he tipped his hat to me with a conspiratorial grin. "Afternoon."

"Cut the pleasantries," I snapped. "Have you learned where he lives?"

He leaned forward and flashed his teeth. "I done far better than that, Monsieur Erik. Told you I got connections, connections that are more than ready to see this fellow eat his weight in stone and be cast into the Hudson river."

I seized his collar and gave him a shake. "Out with it."

"Come now. You might want to get yourself a little cordial like." He straightened the strip of ragged cloth about his neck, though it did little good to change his shabby appearance. "Someone's throwin' hisself a party."

 _ **~Shaw~**_

All of aristocracy strutted about VanHollus's ballroom. Brilliantly attired businessmen puffed out their chests in outrageous displays that resembled the birds I had watched on my vacation to South America last summer. Last summer, when I should have been tending to my building sites instead of rubbing elbows with VanHollus. I shouldn't complain. He had paid for it. The heavy weight of the diamond on my finger reminded me of something else he had bestowed. One of many gifts he lavished on those he found of value. Of course that meant something. Looking around the room proved it.

As I wriggled the heavy ring and watched the light play inside it, I was greeted by a deep nod. Polstern adjusted his vest with a little flash of his ring. The trinkets were everywhere in this room, a flashy display of the lucrative arrangement. Symbols, that is what they were. Symbols of the mortar linking VanHollus's powerful empire together.

"Evening, Mister Shaw." A gentlemen I barely recalled from another meeting inclined his head as he passed by.

Lifting my chin in reply, I reached to a servant's tray for a glass of champagne. By the time I had done so the gentlemen was engaged in conversation across the room, saving me from the disgrace of having neglected to recall his identity.

All these rules only to keep one's face. Nothing but trouble. Oh the nights I lie awake in my bed reminiscing of my humble beginnings. That by-gone era when my hands had time to work the stone. That time before VanHollus made me swear only to build for him, leaving my chief duties to barking orders at work men and attending social gatherings like this. I rarely met with a client anymore. VanHollus made all the contracts. The rays of the setting sun painted the sky. Were it not for the frozen ground my work crews would have been walking their chisels until it was too dark to see their hands. I rubbed my gloved fingers together, the skin beneath was soft, devoid of callouses.

His bray of laughter carried over the crowd drawing my eyes to where he stood framed by the staircase. Robed in red velvet, he looked like a monarch. Around his neck a heavy ornamental necklace sparkled with polished gold and gems. Standing beneath him influential men fawned at his feet. They guffawed at his jokes, they toasted his health with abandon. They gifted him with the finest wares they could to maintain this delicate dance. Why? Because the eyes remembered who was honored by invitation and who was not. Only those here were deemed worthy.

VanHollus strode across the room lifting his glass high as he winked at me. "Why, if it isn't the man I wanted to see. Christopher Shaw. So sorry the building season has come to an end, my most talented stone mason."

I barely managed to subdue the choking as the champagne went down wrong. _You own more masons on this island than there are quarries, and I am your most talented? What do you want now?_

"Next year, Shaw, next year will be special. I have so many projects you can have your pick of the most prestigious."

My eyes shifted around at the dozens of masons I knew to be present. "You honor me. But is it not custom to offer your clients the choice of their stone mason?"

"The client?" He brayed out. "That is why I love you, Shaw. That sense of humor. The clients do not know what they want. It is my job to tell them what they want. You have no idea how swiftly I had to move through the meetings to ensure my hand got the lion's share of the contracts. The gall of those second rate architects and their work mule stone crews trying to propose bids for projects on my island? I cannot permit that. When you see the stack upon my desk, you will be amazed at how much I secured."

My eyebrow rose before I could catch the expression and banish it. "Enough to keep all the crews busy?"

He lifted his glass and winked. "Enough that I shall actively be seeking more crews."

 _Stealing more crews, more like it._

"Do you have any?"

For the second time in as many minutes I nearly choked. "Any what?"

"Recommendations, you know, crews with a good upcoming stone mason I can put out of business and hire on his men."

Fury built within me, Fury I could not let him glimpse if I wished to remain a man of repute. I cast my eyes out the open window, watching the curtains swirl in the evening breeze. Evergreen bushes stirred in the growing darkness. Perhaps there were some birds finding shelter from the cold. I let that thought distract me from the potential of ruining another man's life. My next words would be a death sentence to another man in my field. As much as I aspired to be the best stone mason in Manhattan, I wanted to do so by my own merit, not because no other was permitted to build here. That was VanHollus's tactic, not mine. I knew that one man alone could not possibly service the whole of the city.

"Shaw?"

I cleared my throat and offered a single shouldered shrug. "I have been busy of late, finding the best stone in that new marble quarry. I confess that my connections with the other builders have been limited. I apologize, VanHollus, I know of no available crews."

"Pity." His eyes shadowed by heavy brows, he lowered his gaze. "We would not want my contracts to fail."

Swiftly I changed the subject. "I have not seen Reed this evening. I was expecting him."

"Why ever would he be here?" VanHollus sneered.

"I heard a rumor you had a contract with him, for an addition to his house? Did I hear wrong? I admit it surprised me as I knew he had lost your favor."

He laughed and held up the glass. "Ah yes, that little deal. I would not say he has gained anything from me. I merely wanted to step on another architect who thought he could build in my city."

Outside the evergreens rustled. Turning my head I saw a flash of black and white. Perhaps a magpie or two tusseling over food? VanHollus paid it no mind and continued.

"I stole the meeting from that man who bought the quarry, Erik. Then I told Reed, that little textile weaver, I would bring him back some plans for his addition." He flicked his hand making a face, "I'll get back to the menial task someday before the ground thaws. You wouldn't want that contract. People like Reed barely deserve our attention."

People like Reed were in his circle until recently. I swallowed, biting my tongue to make certain I didn't share the same fate.

"I'll get one of the others to take it." VanHollus shrugged. "Don't you fret. There is plenty of work for you. This season every crew that builds will be under my employ."

My throat refused to admit air.

"That should weed out the flotsam by the end of the year. Ha, I have a worthy goal for 1883. The city will thank me for squashing every unworthy architect and stone mason on the island. And you will be known as the premier stone mason. Won't that be wonderful?"

I had to breathe. I had to look casual. Inside I was screaming. What was I doing here? Before I could manage a reply, he turned and ambled after Polstern. It was just in time for me to dash to the open window and expel my roiling guts. Please, no one be looking my way. Blessedly there was too much noise in the room for my embarrassment to be heard.

"Oh God, someone please stop VanHollus." I whispered up to the starry sky.

 _ **~Erik~**_

My blood was boiling. The nerve of this man, this VanHollus! Fingernails dug into the palms of my hands as I leaned back to avoid the torrent of bile from the window above us. Gallo crouched in the pine bushes beside me, his hands wringing in anticipation.

I wanted so much to dash into the ballroom and throttle VanHollus within an inch of his life. However, apparently he had not known Reed had signed on with me.

"Oh God, someone please stop VanHollus."

I held my breath for a moment, listening to the desperate plea. How very odd, a man wishing a downfall on his employer? Indeed, it was clear that VanHollus was playing a rather despicable game and I wondered just how many other victims lie out there waiting for his blood as eagerly as I.

Waving a hand to Gallo to follow, we made our way cautiously from the pretentious mansion and out into the streets.

"Told ya was gonna be a good night." Gallo tugged his hat. "Have I earned my keep, Monsieur?"

"I should say you have." My fingers pulled out a small cloth wrapped object. "Information and connections are more valuable than money. You say you know of some men whom this man has wronged?"

"I do, Sir."

"Then I have another task for you. Come Spring I will need to build, which means I need masons. You bring me good men to work my quarry and build my contracts, preferably those VanHollus wronged, and I will make certain you are well rewarded." Tossing him the cloth I watched as he pried it open and freed the ruby ring I had fetched from my hiding place. I hated to part with it, the deep red beauty had been with me since I had taken my fee in secrecy from Renne. But Gallo seemed the type of man to adore all that glittered.

"Oh, most profitable indeed! That's lovely, that is." Exposing his teeth in a wide grin he held out his filthy hand for the firm shake. "You have my word, Monsieur Erik … signal you just like this time when I have some fellas for you to talk to. By Spring you should have all you need."

"To shake VanHollus's foundations."


	26. Chapter 26

_**Chapter 26**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

The coin rolled back and forth across the back on my knuckles in a distracted dance. Fingers with so much memory of how to manipulate objects … I wondered if they even listened to my brain any longer. In a quick turn, the coin vanished only to reappear.

"Nice trick." Gallo threw back his mug of ale with an appreciative sigh before slamming the empty vessel on the rough table between us. "A fella once taught me a pretty slick card trick. Wanna see?"

"No. I can not say I care for this wretched bar you have brought us to this evening. I am waiting and my patience is wearing thin."

"Relax." He leaned back tugging his cap down low. "They'll be here soon. Promise you that. This is their favorite place and word traveled fast the other day. If VanHollus really did push him into the brink, his whole crew will be here barking mad about it. Oh, hello." He sat up, craning his neck. "There you are, Monsieur. The whole dang lot, fit to be tied."

I clung to the shadow as the creaking door admitted the torrent of cursing men. No less than a dozen pushed up to the counter. Working men, calloused hands and dirt packed skin, tempers flaring like wolves denied access to sheep. The poor lads. All they needed was to have someone masterfully cut the fence.

"What the hell am I going to do?" A burly man pounded his fist on the counter. "Whole company dismissed cause the boss lost his contract. No work coming in the spring, not even a chance at our winterin' money. Can't find labor this late in the season."

A younger man, on the cusp of adulthood looked up from the miserable heap. "You're at least more than an apprentice. I haven't even a full season. Everything … my whole future is gone. We were counting on that money to keep the apartment through the winter."

"Shit boy, you live in the Bowery. Ain't an apartment. Ain't nothing but a death trap."

"Mother and Father were counting on me! Can't work cause they're so sick."

The man clicked his tongue, other gazes turned with sorrow. "S'right Piero, forgot your folks got consumption."

Piero untied the scarf from his neck with numb fingers. Absently he rubbed it against his haunted eyes, the bleak future reflected in his blank stare. Even the hardened men around him softened their voices for a moment.

"We'd all go to the boss and plead your case. But the truth is he's probably gonna lose his own roof shortly. We're all sinkin' in this mire and there's nought that we can do for it." Stripping the hat from his head he pressed it to his heart and sighed. "Truth is, few of us make it out of here save in the ol' pine box."

The coin in my hand skipped across the counter, striking a metal platter leaning against the wall. All eyes turned in alarm to the source of the sound. Then gradually, they turned one by one, to look upon me. My hands steepled before me. I spoke just above a whisper drawing the men towards me.

"There is another way out of the Bowery. One that benefits all that are here."

The burly man took a step forward, placing himself between me and the young Piero. "What's this nonsense, stranger?"

"Soon you shall learn I am no stranger to you."

"Ain't seen the look of you before. Sit up, man needs to see who he speaks with."

I did not move. "I have a proposition for all of you. Word has reached me that you are recently unemployed. I will be in need of a crew to work my stone, to build my buildings. I am looking for eager men of all skill levels." I glanced at the young Piero peering around at me. "Especially those willing to learn."

A general babble broke out before the man quelled them with a hand. I assumed he must have been their foreman. "Not sure it's gonna be worth trying to stay in the trade. Seems like every crew is being torn apart. You one of VanHollus's cronies come to pick the remains of his dirty work?"

Somehow the blade had found itself into my hand, the tip slicing into the soft wood. "Hardly! Recently I have come to learn of VanHollus's despicable game. He has been stealing contracts from me and I have a desire to see him put in his place. I need a loyal crew who is driven by that same desire."

The foreman spat on the floor, eyeing me. "You an architect?"

I nodded slowly. "Not only that, a master stone mason with my own quarry in the north of the island."

Heads turned and the men leaned forward.

I pushed up from the table removing a roll of paper from beneath my sweater. "I have a proposition for everyone of you. I cannot offer you much in advance."

The sound of disgust traveled in a wave.

"Patience." My voice cut through. "You want to make a fool out of VanHollus? You want to be free of this Bowery? You want a chance at a better life than this cesspit?"

Every head nodded tentatively, even Piero's.

Unrolling the paper I showed the map of my land. My finger traced a wide tract of field. "Every man who signs on to work for my crew will be permitted a small plot of land beside the quarry. He will be allotted stone and supplies, and in his spare time may build a home for his family. As long as the man is in service to me, the home is his. Serve me well enough and the home becomes his permanently."

Hope. Hope glimmered in their hungry eyes. Hands twitched as if already signing in the air.

The foreman lifted his head appraisingly. "What's this got to do with VanHollus, old man?"

I locked eyes with him and offered a cold smile. "When I am done exposing his true nature to society not even the beggar will look at him without disgrace."

He glanced at the plot map, rubbing his stubbled chin. "There are others."

Spreading my hands wide I declared, "Bring them one and all to me. I shall offer them a home and work. Once my work is visible on this island I can assure you there will be plenty of contracts."

Piero stepped around the foreman. "Sir, I am but an apprentice. But I will work very hard for you if you will have me."

"Let me see your hands, boy." He placed the calloused fingers in my hands, palm up. They were strong, steady. They had seen rough stone work common for a first year. "There is promise in you. The offer stands for you as well."

"Even the house?" He leaned forward.

Waving my hand over the map, "Where would you like it?"

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Everything is sparkling." Nadir declared to the empty upper town street. It was as though he felt I needed to hear it, as though I was a blind man who would appreciate his narration.

Yes, a blanket of freshly fallen snow had whitewashed the city. It was mid-December after all, snow is rather commonplace. Beautiful. Lovely. I have better things to do than tromp through it, bundled in several layers trying to stay warm. I could be … well … I'm sure I would think of something more beneficial than begging winter for death from cold. What had compelled Nadir to inflict this kind of torture on us, a stroll through the aristocratic streets? Garlands draped gaily about windows and doors, pine trees sacrificed for some ritual to be brought inside and set ablaze with candles. A season of joy. My shoulders stiffened at the sight of brightly wrapped packages carried by servants into an extravagant home.

"Explain to me again," Nadir intruded my melancholy, "it has been many a year since you have spoken of your once Christian faith. I do not understand what would compel one to bring a tree into their home."

The silence stretched between us. My eyes drifted to the Persian beside me. Threadbare clothing hung off his malnourished frame. He knew enough about the Christian holiday from our conversations before … The lowly manger story that inspired it all. He also saw the lavish celebrations dripping with excess and waste, the hypocritical gluttony. On that night households would be gathered around their trees lit by hundreds of candles, one family feasting on enough food to feed four blocks in this city, singing carols and drinking toasts to a bright future. They would be reveling in their generosity. Nadir and I would be shivering in the Bowery by the light of our single candle, eating a paltry meal of boiled grains, silence pervading as we sipped weak tea with a nip of Nadir's whiskey. What an abysmal waste.

"Erik, please. I am really trying to understand the strange custom."

A rude laugh escaped me. "This coming from a man who hails from the land of excess."

He blushed briefly, diving into his scarf. "It was different over there."

"Do not play word games with me. Those halls were filled with as much wasted resources as this wretched custom brings."

"You find no comfort in the joviality?"

Ducking down further into my cloak I shrugged, "Why on earth would I?"

"I am to understand that this is in celebration of a Savior. Some pathway for the forgiveness of sins."

"That nest of nonsense." I rolled my eyes. "You care more for that pitiful story than I ever have."

His hand tapped my shoulder firmly. "That is not true. There was a time. You have hinted at it enough. Else how would you have known."

Cocking a brow I replied, "I know of eunuchs and harems from Persia. I know of your faith, sometimes I swear more intimately than you. One does not have to believe to comprehend. I assure you, Nadir, it has been a great long time since I have taken that word seriously. I never shall again. Those who wish to waste their money on such fleeting things as this dreadful holiday, that makes a mockery of the poor, will do so in their own ignorance." I had more important things to address. Like building my network to bury VanHollus. It had been several days since I had heard from Gallo. Perhaps my frustration had more to do with the fact that winter hobbled all my efforts.

"At least you are talking." He muttered, "been too damn quiet lately with only my own thoughts as company."

"You can always go downstairs and ask Chastity for a lesson."

All I could see now was his eyes over his scarf, eyes tainted with embarrassment.

Was it my fault that he had gone smitten for her? I closed my eyes for a brief moment and the fool was sharing her bed. The nerve of the Persian heart, so fickle.

"We saved your life," he murmured.

Well … there was that.

"You could show a little gratitude."

My feet paused in the street. A moment later I took a few steps back. My eyes had not fooled me. There was a building that stretched the entire facade of the block, that was all it was. A narrow slice of a building standing apart from the ones comprising the rest of the block. How did this strange structure come to be? And why? It was as though it stood on its own plot of land in defiance of the rest of the block.

"Erik? Erik, are you even listening to me?"

I waved a hand to Nadir. Yes, that was it. The building nestled tightly into it's own slice of the block. I had heard of this happening, the city blocks not always matching the original boundary lines. This remarkable building must have been the result of just such a situation.

"Ingenious!" I mused. "Look, you can see it is one very narrow building connected through the various floors by that central stairwell. From the looks of it, there are two dwellings on either side of the entrance. I can only imagine the jest this structure made to whomever owned the land behind. What an incredible stroke of defiance to employ the plot in such a manner."

"Who would live in such a place?"

"Who lives beside an underground lake beneath five cellars of the Paris Opera in a house no one knows exists." I whispered with a wink. "A man who recognizes the potential for something unique."

The gears turned. I had glimpsed VanHollus's designs and before long would know one when I saw it, but not for a good reason. It wasn't style or distinction, but repetition.

Gazing up at this unusual architectural statement, I remembered the awe in Reed's eyes as I had shown him my vision … that was what set us apart. I doubted VanHollus could learn to adapt as thoroughly as my decades of life had taught me.

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

Remarkable how a stonemason such as Shaw could live in such an uninspired dwelling. Every time he held a gathering in his parlor I was reminded of his simple tastes. How unfortunate. Ones home really did reflect upon the man. His screamed ordinary.

It was New Year's Eve, and it seemed such a lamentable waste not to be gathered in my ballroom. Compelled to humor the man, I decided to grace everyone with my presence.

"Tell me, VanHollus, how is your wife?" Shaw addressed me when we retired to his quaint little parlor, cigar smoke rising into the air. "I beg pardon for saying so, but she looked a bit pale at dinner."

I took a long draw off the fine cigar, savoring it before I replied. "She is well. Her complexion suffers a bit from a condition."

"Oh dear." Polstern politely bowed his head. "I was unaware she was ill."

I chuckled. "We shall see how fit a wife she is for me if she bears me an heir."

Their own complexions blushed. "Oh!" Shaw sat up, reaching for his glass. "So a toast is in order!"

Waving my hand in dismissal, I took another long breath of the smoke, holding it briefly before I replied. "That can wait til we see of her success in her wifely duties, Gentlemen. I daresay that if she succeeds there it shall be the first and likely only time she has performed satisfactorily."

Polstern inclined his chin. "It was said she had a mind of her own."

"I have been forced to put her in her place more than once."

"Her willful nature inspires others," replied Polstern. "More than, once after they have had tea, I have had cause to remind my wife that women have no place in the business world."

"Better left to their embroidery." I savored my cigar contemplating taking a sip of the champagne. Didn't I pay Shaw well enough to afford something better than this … this … swill? And surely he could afford better trained servants. A gentleman should never need to voice his wants, a servant should simply know.

"It is such an insufferable situation each and every time my wife returns home with these ideas in her head. Ideas about how dreadfully unfair it is to push the mediocrity down, to remove them from attempting to practice business. She is distraught until I remind her of that simple fact."

I smiled and concluded for him. "That those are not men we have cut down. The low class are not worth a woman's tears. Fairer sex indeed. They want to suckle every poor soul that begs for a handout. No grasp of the true nature of the business world."

Shaw pulled out his pocketwatch, glancing at the time. "Ten minutes, Gentlemen, and we may bid a fond farewell to 1882."

"As with any other year." I sat up straighter in my chair, adjusting my smoking jacket. "This was most profitable. And what a delightful little turn of events. Some have left our circle only to be found useful once again."

"Reed?" Shaw cocked his head, distractedly replacing his watch.

"Indeed. Which reminds me, I should get around to drafting that conservatory he asked for before the ground thaws."

Polstern lowered his glass, his eyebrow raised. "Then … you have not heard?"

I stared at him, waiting overlong for a reply as he seemed to search for words. "Pray, tell."

"Why, there is no need for you draft for him. Reed secured a contract with another architect in late fall."

The ash from my cigar fell and singed my hand before I could brush it away. Fingers dug into the arm of my high back backed chair. I drilled him with my eyes. "Who dared to steal my contract?"

Shaw leaned forward with curiosity while Polstern cleared his throat. "Monsieur Erik."

 **That** ridiculous fool? How did he manage to get his contract back after my forged letter announcing he had to cancel his meeting? Reed had seen him after that? I knew Reed was a cad, but it was unforgivable for a businessman not to honor his meeting time. Precisely why I used that tactic so often. It was ironclad.

Raising his glass Shaw grinned, "Well Gentlemen, a toast to a new year! May it bring about many ambitious ventures for one and all. To 1883!"

Absently I raised my glass. To ambitious ventures indeed. The first of which was to utilize my resources to bury this upstart who dared to try and steal from me!


	27. Chapter 27

_**Chapter 27**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Cold, I swore my blood would never thaw out again. A bleak January had passed on to an even bleaker February. On the many days I trudged home without a day's worth of labor I found a morose Erik leaning idly on his desk, often some small object vanishing and reappearing in his absent-minded fiddling. He hadn't touched his violin since the tragic death of Blanjini. With nothing to occupy him in these long months I wondered what was transpiring in the rapt silence.

The only time I could roust him from the apartment was to purchase food and often along with it, his opium. Bundled in a wool sweater with a ragged scarf flapping in the breeze, Erik huddled into his thickest cloak as we shuffled through the snow. As usual he was as taciturn as ever.

After half a dozen attempts to get him to talk, I was about to give up hope when I considered where his mind might be lingering, "When the ground thaws in the spring, have you secured enough workmen to begin Reed's conservatory?"

"There are a few dozen gathered up at the quarry, living in the pole barn." His voice was distant, distracted.

"Few dozen? Good heavens, how did you manage that?"

He glanced up as a carriage pressed through the slush. "Men who have been wronged hunger for a chance to pay back those who have wronged them. They are the workmen who became unemployed by VanHollus's tactics."

"And you are paying them? With what?"

"Land and a promise."

My laughter was cut short as he fixed me with a firm glare.

"They may build homes beside the quarry for their families. Dwellings away from this stinking cesspit. That alone was the start of their contract. The remainder was that if they came with me and worked hard they would be well rewarded for their trust. Loyalty is everything to those men. Everything to me. This you know."

Ducking my head, into my scarf I hid the heat rising to my cheeks. "My apologies, Erik. It just seemed to be a silly notion."

He paused in the snow, glancing over his shoulder. "Every man has his price." Tense, he was following something with his eyes. Then I noticed a man approaching us from the side.

"Afternoon, Sirs." He cocked his head up, "You Monsieur Erik?"

Hesitantly, Erik replied while I watched his hand straying down toward the hidden knife. "Depends."

In his gloved hand he presented a wax sealed envelope. "This letter is for you. I can take your reply back. Tis expected."

Erik seized it, breaking the seal and unfolding the contents. His eyes narrowed as he read, their progress slowing.

"What is it?"

He didn't answer me, but returned to the top to read it once more. Before us the man tugged on his sleeves as he patiently waited.

Folding the letter, Erik stared at the envelope for a long moment in utter silence. His fingertips brushed against one another.

"If it is to be so, than let this proceed. Tomorrow at eleven in the morning is the time I shall declare."

The man froze for a moment. Leaning forward, he opened his eyes wide. "Tomorrow? Are you certain?"

Erik waved him off. "You heard me correctly. On my honor I will be in attendance."

The man withdrew, studying us with scrutiny over his shoulder as he departed. I could not help but try and reach for the letter. It vanished into his cloak. "We have somewhere else we need to go. I must retrieve something."

"What? What is happening tomorrow?"

He turned onto another street, heading south. "I shall need you to be my second tomorrow."

I scrambled to reach his side, slipping in the snow in my haste. I could not have heard him correctly! "You've been challenged to a duel?"

He nodded slowly. "Apparently I have repeatedly insulted a man named Whembley."

"Who is Whembley?"

"I daresay, tomorrow we shall both find out."

 _ **~Reed~**_

Word traveled like wildfire through society. The excited whispers reached me at a club dinner where we could scarcely believe it. Whembley, a loose associate of mine, was taking part in a duel. That was cause enough for a rather spirited gathering on the dueling knoll. A public sword duel was always a spectacle in the community. And what was odd was that Whembley was not prone to such declarations of honor.

Rumor had it that a man had stolen property from Whembley. Upon learning the identity of the rogue, the challenge had been issued but, with a great amount of difficulty. Curiosity had me standing on the outskirts of the crowd leaning on my cane.

In this brisk late morning, Hart stood at the center with his silken top hat shining in the sun. The old banker was clearly the chosen officiate of the duel. Beside him, Whembley tapped the hilt of his sword, his eyes glaring through the clearing to the only approach to the knoll. He wore his Sunday best, short cloak fluttering in the breeze. Around him stood many a respectable man of the community. But it did not escape me that VanHollus was beaming at Whembley's side. VanHollus … his chosen second. Curious indeed.

VanHollus bumped elbows with his favored stone mason Shaw, remarking loud enough to be overheard be all, "Let's see if the coward even shows up. Less than five minutes."

"Whembley," Hart put his pocket-watch away, "to make this fair, you did offer him time enough to learn how to properly fence? That is customary. This duel came on rather swiftly."

"Of course." He huffed, his fingernails ringing on the metal guard. "What manner of a gentlemen wouldn't allow that? It was he who selected the date when he refused to return my property."

Everyone in the circle nodded.

"Doesn't mean he will actually show up. Probably left Manhattan with his tail between his legs after he learned you were a fencer in college." VanHollus polished his nails on his satin lapel. "One less piece of immigrant trash on the island."

Folding my hands on top of my cane, I had to wonder what manner of man had rousted VanHollus to be a second in a duel. Perhaps that was another reason so many gathered around. Everything about this was unusual.

"Whembley, I must ask my dear friend," VanHollus wrung his hands together, "what do you wish done to this fiend if he fails to show?"

Hart eyed the two men before a reply could be delivered. "No gentleman is to be deemed dishonored until he commits the act to earn it."

"This thief is no gentleman," declared Whembley. "He denied everything in the letters we exchanged! He insulted me, see here!" Producing a collection of letters, he showed them to Hart who's eyebrows raised.

"Such language, unbefitting a …," catching himself, Hart folded the letter up and pushed it partially into his pocket. "The duel decides."

"If it even happens." Whembley grumbled.

"Oh, it'll happen. Even if we must drag the animal out of hiding." VanHollus offered a smile that sent shivers down my spine.

Two shadows darkened the clearing. A shabby little man in a heather tweed suit with olive skin and a graying beard. He looked to be of Persian descent. It was the second man though who caught my attention, tall and thin with a full cloak draped over a thread-bare black wool suit. Over his was face a white mask I knew. I drew in a breath at the recognition; my architect, Erik.

"Well now," VanHollus snorted. "So the coward showed up to his execution."

Whembley bristled at the sight, his hand flexing for the hilt.

I was astonished to see that Erik simply came to a stiff halt. Tall and stoic, he gestured for the Persian to come beside him. The man held back even still, letting one leg take more weight than the other. He had grown paler, fear in his eyes as he stared at Whembley.

VanHollus flashed his teeth and produced a blade from his side presenting it to Erik. "We brought you a sword, for we cannot possibly let you do this honorably unarmed."

A shrug of the shoulder shifted Erik's cloak. The gleam of a sword hilt riding on his right hip revealed he had come prepared.

"Poor thief doesn't even know how to wear a sword correctly!" The crowd roared with laughter.

There was no discernible response from Erik. He remained like a statue, the eyes behind the mask fixed on the corner of the letters peeking out from Hart's pocket. Good heavens, if Erik didn't even wear a sword right he would be killed … right—Erik was left handed!

I glanced at Whembley who was laughing whole heartedly with the others. They didn't have a clue. Taking a step forward, I cocked my head curiously. Nothing about Erik betrayed any manner of nervousness. He wasn't even appearing to be impatient, his hands at either side, simply waiting.

Hart held up his hand and silence descended. "Gentlemen. We are here today because Erik stole property from Mister Whembley and has refused to return it."

With a slow shake of his head, Erik pointed to the letters in Hart's pocket. "I cannot return what I have not stolen. Nor will I apologize for a crime I have not committed. I stand in defense of my honor."

"Thieving liar!" Whembley shouted before Hart placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Thus with the time honored process you will get your chance for justice. Now, Whembley, your second?"

"The honorable VanHollus who alerted me to this felon!"

My eyes narrowed, focusing on the bundle in Hart's pocket. By now Erik had dropped his hand, but his eyes still focused on the letters. To any casual glance they might think he was dropping his eyes in guilt.

Hart adjusted his tie. "We will provide you with a second, Erik … "

"No need." He replied firmly, gesturing to the lame man off his shoulder. "I trust no man with my life more than Nadir."

The Persian shook his head and prattled off in a language I did not understand. His babbling ceased the moment Erik turned and glared at him. Slowly, Nadir grabbed the edges of his hat and held it before him like a shield. Erik turned back to Hart and replied sternly, "My apologies for our later than intended arrival. My friend has a sore knee. His English is a little wanting, but he is a loyal second and will do as needed to ensure this is properly executed."

Nadir shuddered, his eyes daring to glance at Whembley.

"Seconds declared." Hart nodded. "Very well, Gentlemen. We may proceed."

Erik took a single step forward. "This entire thing is quite unnecessary, if I may see that le— "

"Proceed!" VanHollus stomped a foot startling everyone, myself included.

It was the first sign of emotion I witnessed in Erik that day. Frustration as he stepped back taking direction from Hart to his place on the field while Whembley took his own place. The crowd was jeering at Erik and Nadir. They spared no love for the quailing Persian who looked as though he was about faint. I had to wonder why such a man would be a proper second, he couldn't even watch as Erik removed his cloak and tossed it at him. Nadir obediently collected it, almost hiding in the abundant fabric.

"Before we proceed with this, let me go on record." Erik's eyes drifted to Whembley's ready form. "I have no desire to engage in this fracas. There is a way to settle this without bloodshed."

"Not interested!" Whembley gripped the hilt of his sword, sneering at his opponent.

His eyes closed tightly for a long moment. When they opened he widened his stance losing the stiffness, his hands still nowhere near the hilt. "As you will. Then I refuse to be accountable for the outcome. Mister Hart, it appears we are to proceed."

Strange words. Strange words indeed.

I shifted, trying to get a better view of the two. Whembley stood leering, leaning forward over his blade ready to pounce. Erik could have been standing in a hall with a wine glass in his hand.

"Gentlemen, draw and salute."

Whembley whipped his blade out and flashed it into the air with a rude jerk. He presented the tip, leveling the guard.

In a fluid motion, Erik reached his left hand over and slid the blade free of the sheath. Looping it in a wide circle, he bent at the hips ever so slightly offering a gentleman's bow. His eyes never left Whembley now.

The shift of the Persian retreating from the field caught my attention. Distress overcoming his jade green eyes, he glanced at Whembley. Was he that afraid Erik would be injured?

Lazily, Erik's blade remained tipped downward after his salute, his relaxed posture in contrast to Whembley's fierce fencing pose. I feared I may need to find a new architect after this duel.

Whembley glanced down at the sword in the left hand and spat out, "Wrong hand, fool! It's supposed to be in your right hand."

The only reply from Erik was a measured blink of his eyes.

Hart held his hands up, glancing to each man noting they were ready. He dropped his hands and Whembley lunged forward with a high strike.

Erik barely shifted his weight, his blade sliding up to beat the tang out of the way. Poor Whembley was committed to the lunge and stumbled forward. To his shock Erik grabbed his arm with his right hand and pushed him back to his feet.

Both men resumed their guard. Whembley watched with astonishment, waiting for Erik to strike. But he held the loose downward guard crossing his chest. Enraged, Whembley put forth a beat pattern changing the guard sides. Each and every one was met with the edge of Erik's blade in a brief but firm strike that left him reeling. Nothing got through. Feints, ripostes, no angle seemed a challenge to the left-handed guard.

Growling, Whembley drew back and went in for a rush, placing his momentum into the blade. With a fine twist, Erik danced back and let Whembley's blade slide up his … momentum did indeed play its part. Whembley's eyes widened, his mouth agape in a silent scream. He caught his weight and staggered back, extracting the third of Erik's blade from his gut.

The crowd gasped, leaning forward in shock. Blood blossomed on Whembley's vest drenching it in crimson.

He tripped and fell backwards, grasping his belly as his complexion turned white. Nadir dropped the cloak, his hands covering his face as he turned from the scene. One look at Erik and I knew why. Those stoic eyes gazed down on the victim as the tip of his blade hung beside him.

The two had known this was inevitable. Whembley had come to his death and Erik had tried to warn him.

Flabbergasted, VanHollus went to draw the extra blade. Hart stopped him with a firm hand.

Kneeling down, Erik remarked loud enough for all to hear, "Mister Whembley, I assure you that wound is in fact mortal. No surgeon has any hope of saving you from sepsis. But I am not a man without mercy. You can resign yourself to days of suffering and humiliation. Or you can request I end this swiftly and with full honor for you. On your word, I will make this swift and painless."

Whembley trembled, grasping his belly and staring at the mixture of red and yellow penetrating his vest. Gasping for air he squealed out, " … mercy … "

Erik nodded, as he stood he lifted the sword in a full salute. "On my honor."

The strike was swift. A glancing blow across the neck and Whembley's breath left his body. Erik wiped his blade off before sheathing it and turning a cold gaze to the seething VanHollus. Both men were locked in a wordless battle.

I had never expected to see this. And clearly no one else had either. Least of all, VanHollus!

Hart placed his hands between the two men and pushed them apart. "Gentlemen. The duel was concluded properly."

"A duel that never should have happened, save for this man." Erik challenged. "Whembley was betrayed by his second. Set up by him. Had I been given a chance to explain, his death might have been avoided."

A silence descended, everyone leaning closer.

"What's this?"

"He's lying!" VanHollus decreed. "This dishonorable creature is lying!"

Erik stiffened, his hand plucking the letters from Hart's pocket. "Here is my proof. The alleged letter that I am claimed to have written declaring the theft of the items to some unidentified assistants. Has no one bothered to even question the lunacy of such a piece of writing? Not to mention that it is not in my hand."

Hart threw a puzzled look at VanHollus. "Where did you get this letter you provided to Whembley?"

He stuttered. "That **my** honor is questioned is beyond belief!"

"Where, VanHollus!"

Erik glanced my way and waved a hand. "Reed has witnessed me writing a contract before him. Come, my good man, is this my hand?"

I blinked, glancing to Hart who impatiently gestured for me. My stomach rolled as I stepped up, taking the paper in my hands. I glanced up at VanHollus. The man scowled at me. "Mister Hart, by my own honor this is not the writing of Erik. The slant is improper for his hand. This is also not the first time this same hand has been employed to frame him. A great wrong was concluded today, costing Whembley his life."

"VanHollus." Hart cleared his throat. "Where did this come from?"

He refused to reply. Erik folded his arms across his chest. "A coward, he declared me. And yet I have come and defended my honor against an opponent who did not know me. Whose name I had only just heard yesterday. I suspect the stolen property would be found along with a collection of stone chips pilfered from my quarry by the same man who has everything to gain from ensuring he has no competition in this city. **That** is a coward. A man who cannot dare to let anyone else's work stand beside his own. You have every right to fear me, VanHollus. And you have not even glimpsed my work yet."

"Please!" VanHollus snorted. "Why would I fear a pauper like you? Just look at yourself, Freak."

Erik stiffened, his hand on the hilt of his sword. It was Nadir who stayed him, broken English trembling in the wind. "No Erik, enough blood."

Taught fingers released the hilt with a forced exhale. "If there is nothing to fear, why spend so many resources slaughtering the careers of others? If your work has merit on its own, these tactics would have no point."

"Erik is right." Hart clapped his hands silencing VanHollus's reply. "Let us settle this fairly in a contest."

"I'll win hands down." VanHollus grunted.

"So be it. My new bank shall be decided by a build-off. The architect who builds the most secure building shall be paid in full for the contract."

VanHollus dropped his jaw. "That contract is already mine!"

"Not anymore." Hart declared, crossing his arms. "You have to earn it now. Erik, I will give you the specifics."

With a simple nod, Erik reached back and collected his cloak from Nadir. "That is agreeable Mister Hart. I appreciate the opportunity. May the best architect win." Turning on his heel, Erik left VanHollus standing rigid with anger. Hart left with Erik and the Persian, relaying the details.

This would be interesting. VanHollus, with real competition! And this time, eyes were on him. Perhaps this time he would be forced to play fair.

 **~Erik~**

As we climbed the final flight of stairs, I was already unbuckling the belt that held the sword. It had been a detestable task to retrieve it from the catacomb storage. I had been left with little choice yesterday. A full flight below me, Nadir shambled up the stairs mumbling to himself. There was no doubt it had been a lengthy walk to the decreed knoll and back. It had hardly been good exercise for the poor old man. However, I could scarcely spare much time for his aching knee. VanHollus's sloppy hand had given me an advantage in this game, I had but to solve a few details to secure a permanent wedge in his plans.

Striding into our apartment, I dropped my sword onto the shelf. I flung my cloak upon the peg on the wall before Nadir shuffled through the door, shutting it behind him.

"Erik, you should have refused to duel! That was hardly fair. You knew the moment you stepped to that line the man was doomed."

"Do not start with me now. I warned him." I declared, riffling through the stack of designs on my desk, hoping to find a spark of inspiration. "The man refused to listen. You heard him as well as everyone else, he refused to allow me a word in edgewise. He paid the price, leaving me only one way to save face."

His arms flung wide as he bellowed, "He had no idea what you were capable of, Erik! The man thought you were a simple immigrant."

Tossing a stack aside I replied dryly, "I cannot control the assumptions others make. He was a fool to believe VanHollus's ploy. I assure you, I was entirely surprised to catch wind of the numerous correspondences I was said to have made with this … Whembley."

"That's another thing, how **did** you 'catch wind' of that?"

"Not now, Nadir." It would take me hours to explain how Gallo and I had crossed paths and how efficient he was in teasing out whispers. "There must be a design in here somewhere that would begin to serve my purpose. Hours and hours of scribbling and drafting must have something close. I have more important problems to solve than foolish little games by petty cowards."

"Like the very real problem of how you will finance this building." He hobbled up to the table's edge, glaring up at me. "The roof over our heads is hardly assured, you have wages to pay your workers on a promise, those men will get very upset if you short their pay on a wager. And they have chisels and mallets, Erik, which they will turn on you!"

"I know." I leaned heavily on the stack of drawings. "Stop prattling on so I can hear myself think."

"You promised them vengeance." Tapping his hand on the desk he smirked. "Don't you even consider some underhanded scheme to obtain the funds. Before this night is through, you will explain to me how you learned of the letters."

A strange series of thumps stole my attention. Coming up straight I craned my ear, holding out a hand for him to be silent. Of course, he defied my signal.

"I am serious. I insist … "

I slashed the air with my hand. I crept toward the door with my hand producing the hidden knife. The footsteps stopped, directly on the other side.

VanHollus?

Some fool hired by VanHollus to follow me and put an end to this?

They weren't moving on.

Blade at the ready, I reached out my right hand and laid it upon the knob. In a swift motion I flung the door open, blade held high. The man cringed backward, nearly stumbling down the flight of stairs before he recovered himself … and stared up at me in shock.

"Reed?" I lowered the blade, stashing it swiftly. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Nadir's gimpy steps pattered up behind my shoulder. "Reed? The man who contracted you?"

I held my hand up and waved him back inside, replying in Persian, "Not now." Reaching outside our door, I gestured for my client to enter quickly replying in English for his benefit. "Come inside, this place is hardly suited for a man of your stature."

"I should say the same of you." He swallowed, stepping inside and trying not to touch anything. "How is it that a man of your talent dwells in this … this … "

My mask hid the heat rising to my face. The last thing I wanted anyone to see was this accursed hovel. Hands pulsed in fists as I shook my head, "What were you doing at the duel? What are you doing here?"

"I should ask the same of you." His eyes took in the apartment, hardly hiding his disgust. "As for the duel, Whembley had been a friend of mine."

"My condolences." I bowed my head. "It was a pity the poor man was so unwilling to allow me to explain."

Reed tucked his chin, looking up at me. "Hardly his fault. The man was gullible. I assure you that VanHollus used that to his full advantage. You must tell me, can you win this wager?"

I hooded my eyes. "You have seen me draft in your presence. That is nothing compared to what I am capable of when a man challenges my honor. Once I secure the resources, Hart will be presented with a building unlike any have seen before."

Nadir pulled the scarf from his neck, eyeing us sideways while he muttered in stilted English. "Therein lies the trouble. Your vision means nothing without the funds to create it."

My glare was too late to silence him. "Enough of that. I told you I will find a way."

"How Erik? Tell me how you will put a roof on a building while struggling to keep this one above your head!"

"Silence!" I leered at him. How could he put on such a display before my client. How dare he.

"Look no further." Reed inclined his head.

"What?" Astonished, I could scarcely find the words to speak.

He shrugged, settling into a rather proud stance. "VanHollus has been troublesome in society of late, his influence far too inflated by an ego that knows no bounds. He has made this city his playground and any he feels unworthy are the butt of his jokes or worse. Whembley was a good man to have been fashioned into a tool for a means. I somehow doubt I am the only one who desires to see VanHollus lose in an act of public shame. If you can build Hart a bank that will bury VanHollus's reputation, I will be your principal investor."

I stood up straight, my heart skipping beats. "Bury his reputation? Hah, if I am successful it will bury VanHollus in the vault itself."

Wait … the vault.

That was the key! The key to all of this. Nobody on this earth knew more about keeping a place secure than I did. For once, my sense of paranoia would become an ultimate strength.

I must have been silent for too long. Nadir waved a hand in front of my face. "Erik? Why are you smiling? I don't like it when you grin like that."

"I have it!" Scrambling for my quill and ink, I nearly tipped the pot over. Grasping for a patch of unused paper I began to sketch. Faintly, I was aware of the men over my shoulder even as a chuckle escaped me. "I pity any fool who tries to get past this."

With a sharp inhalation, Nadir covered his mouth.

Reed leaned in, eyeing the crude sketch. "Is that … lethal?"

I shrugged, "Depends on how quickly the vic … er … intruder is found. No one will steal from Hart's bank once this guards it."

He whistled. "If you want to finish VanHollus's days as the premiere architect in Manhattan this will do it in one strike." Taking the sketch in his hands, Reed nodded his head. "How much do you need to pull this off?"


	28. Chapter 28

_**Chapter 28**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

The tavern was packed nearly shoulder to shoulder with the boisterous crew. Impatiently I had been testing the ground thaw day after day, waiting for this moment. Gallo hadn't been precisely thrilled with the task of fetching the men from the quarry early this morning. But by the gathering here I knew he had carried out my wishes. Jacques was the last to enter. I assume he had been securing the horses and his cart which had brought the men down.

Outside, the early spring air still carried a chill. There had been no official start date for the construction. However, Hart had made it abundantly clear he had a mind to open his new bank in October. Silently I counted the crewmen gathered in the borrowed tavern, the only place large enough to hold my meeting of the remnants of the three crews dismantled by VanHollus's brutal tactics. Twenty-nine men including Jacques and myself. I had yet to see the quality of work each member of the crew could turn out. That would only become evident once I divided them between the projects. I knew I had at least gained one foreman, an Irishman named O'Hennesey. Even now, the man stole suspicious glances at me over his pint with the appraising eye of one who was questioning a decision. He would be pivotal. Crews were made and destroyed by the loyalty of their foreman.

Gallo leaned idly against the door frame, watching me expectantly. Smoothly I flicked a coin into his hand. He caught it and tugged on his cap as he exited. "Thank you kindly, Monsieur. Always a pleasure."

I owed him far more, but at this moment I could hardly spare it. Fortunately Gallo was proving to be patient, understanding the slow progression of the plan.

The clink of Gallo's coin against my fingernail had grabbed the attention of the room. Every eye was now fixed upon me.

So it begins …

I brought my hands together. "Gentlemen."

Quiet laughter rippled through the room. I waited for silence to resume.

"Gentlemen. Winter's hold has retreated, the ground thawed. With it our chance to show this city what true craftsmanship is. As you know, Shadowcrest Industries has yet to make its mark. Not long ago, through an unusual circumstance, I was awarded a chance to prove our value to the city."

The men shifted, glancing at one another. Most seemed oblivious. A few shared O'Hennesey's suspicious stare.

Reaching into the vest I wore over my best work shirt, I produced the folded drafts and held them up. "This is our salvation. As the men whose existence was threatened at the hands of VanHollus, this is your chance to answer him."

O'Hennesey sauntered forward. "Master Erik, this all sounds amusing, but we ain't in his league. Never have been, never well be."

"Under my employment you are now. He just does not realize it yet." I gestured for him to move his pint glass, making room for the drafts. "The trouble with men such as VanHollus lies within their ignorance. Prone to undervaluing those he deems unworthy of his attention, he is blind to possibility. That is something we shall use to our advantage."

"VanHollus will put you out of business swiftly as he did all our bosses."

I smiled through the mask, lifting my chin. "He may try. But he will find me far more stubborn than his previous targets. Already, in an attempt to do so,

he has merely created an unprecedented opportunity." Spreading out the plans for Reed's conservatory, I remarked. "This first contract was secured in late autumn. I earned it back after VanHollus stole it from me."

O'Hennesey found the space getting crowded as the men surged forward to peer over his shoulder. "Yeah. This is a small project. Hardly a grand thing." His tone bore no great impression, but his eyes were devouring the details before him. There was no doubting that he was surprised at what he saw.

"Ah, yes, one thing leads to another. Late last month, VanHollus's meddling resulted in a little wager." I unfurled the bank plans. Now the mens' eyes widened, hands leaning on the table. "That wager required an investor, a man equally as determined to see VanHollus brought to a fitting stroke of justice."

O'Hennesey's wide eyes drifted to the conservatory. "Him?"

I nodded slowly. "Two projects linked in a common goal. Two projects that, once completed, will put VanHollus in his place and garner the attention of Manhattan. The bank is the key, gentlemen. That is where the wager lies."

"What's the details?"

"Simple. Mister Hart will purchase whichever building he feels meets his demands."

Hands shifted through the primary pages, one of which showed a basic design of my vault, minus the critical details. The foreman raised his eyebrows. "So, no one gets paid if the building doesn't win."

I folded my arms across my chest. "It means VanHollus will invest his resources for nothing but a shameful loss."

More than a handful of men cringed. One replied, "He'll be livid."

Another barked out, "Only if he loses! If we lose, then we will be the ones shamed and he'll have proved his point."

"VanHollus always wins."

I held up my hands. "Gentlemen. It is a gamble. I assure you it will be worth the labor though we have a lot to complete. The bank must be ready by October."

"October? Do you even have the land?"

"I do." I produced the deed to the lot. "Secured and held by my investor. The risk of this project does not lie on your shoulders. But on mine. We will not fail. A reputation is a man's greatest asset and I cannot afford to sacrifice mine."

O'Hennesey rubbed his chin, his eyes drifting between both drafts. He cast a doubtful glance over his shoulder at the gathered crew. "This is a lot to coordinate."

"Let me concern myself with that. All I ask of each of you is to dedicate yourselves to one goal, by this autumn the completion of these two projects. Given that, VanHollus will be a name of the past. Shadowcrest Industries will bury him."

He set the drafts down, reaching a hand across the table. "When do we start?"

I grasped the offered hand. "Right now."

Twenty-nine men, standing against the man who controlled more than a score of teams. Desperation always was the greatest of motivations.

 _ **~Grimaudo~**_

There was little shade at the build site, the walls just taking form on the foundation. But on our lunch break we found whatever relief we could. Greedily, I drank down the tepid tea my mother had brewed for me before I left the quarry barn this morning. Many of the families still lived there, waiting for the chance to build our own houses. Oh, how I dreamed of having a room to myself away from the drafty quarters of the barn. But even still, every day we returned to the city to inhale the sooty air with a renewed appreciation of our escape. Every morning Jacques brought us into the city on his cart. Every evening he returned to cart us back to our families … back to the clean edge of the island. As an apprentice, I knew my house would likely be the last to be completed. Unlike some of the others I lacked the knowledge to build it entirely on my own.

Davidson squeezed my shoulder. "Would you look at this, the little mite is getting some muscle."

Blushing, I tugged my sleeve down.

O'Hennesey cuffed me with a laugh, "Chin up, young Grimaudo, you keep breaking blocks like you have so I don't have to fix them much and you'll shed the title apprentice in no time."

The work days had been long, an endless line of tasks left us scrambling around the work-site from dawn til dusk. A handful worked on Reed's conservatory while the bulk of us toiled here at Hart's bank.

Removing the handkerchief around his neck, O'Hennesey made a futile attempt to clean the stone dust from his face. "Well Lads, have to say our new boss is a rather odd one."

Davidson tugged his cap off, setting it on his knee. "Right strange fellow. Why you think he lingers on the site so much? Lack of trust?"

I swallowed another mouthful. "He works as hard as the rest of us."

Davidson chuckled, "For now, he does. Doubt that'll last."

"Why?"

"Cause Lad," O'Hennesey reknotted the handkerchief with filthy fingers, "he ain't like us."

"Yeah, not used to labor like this. You seen his hands at the meeting? Weren't no callouses. They was smooth and pale. Never mind that silly mask he wears … bet that goes once the heat builds! You watch, he'll vanish into the lavish hall just like every other stuffed shirt, entitled prick does."

O'Hennesey rubbed the back of his neck, "What the hell is up with that mask, anyway? I mean, there has to be some reason?"

Several men tossed in their remarks.

"Never seen him without it."

"Maybe he don't wanna embarrass his family."

"What if he is a wanted criminal?"

"Idiots, probably covers up an injury. Maybe he made a bad mistake as an apprentice."

They all laughed. Davidson clapped me across the shoulder. "What you have to look forward to!"

My cheeks burned as old Jaff held up his hand, displayed the three fingers he had remaining on his it, he was guffawing.

O'Hennesey had to force a straight face as he stilled his laughter, But the smirk still tugged at his lips. "Alright, boys. Fact is Master Erik is here, and I don't know about your bosses, but in these short weeks I've seen him do more rough work than any of my other ones in all those years. The fact that he isn't just standing back and watching us, saving himself for the finishing work, is at least something worth noting."

I glanced up at the foreman. "Don't they usually help?"

He chuckled. "Depends, but often times they are standing back supervising, leaving the work for grunts like us. They get the bulk of the profit off our hides. That's my experience."

The men all nodded.

"Still," Davidson interjected, "I bet it won't last. He'll be scarce as a snowflake in summer once the sun beats down."

The clatter of horse hooves accompanied by the rattle of chains stole my attention. Jacques led one of the draft horses along the side of the building with a nod to us. Then he raised an arm. "Master Erik, here she is."

A moment later, his lean figure dropped down from the low wall dragging a rope suspended from the arm of a crane. "Right. And I see you brought the chain. Help me get this rigged. When the crew returns from lunch I mean to hoist this block into place."

All eyes watched as Erik took the chain from Jacques striding over to a block of waiting stone.

"Erik, did you take a break yourself?"

He snuffed out a breath. "Long enough to swallow a few mouthfuls of weak tea, yes. Now, take this end here … "

"Relentless." I heard myself say.

O'Hennesey and Davidson both stood up, watching in rapt silence.

After Erik had finished securing the rig to the crane, he performed a full examination of the horse, laying his hands over every inch of the animal. "Field grazing has done her well."

Jacques patted her haunches. "No sign of that horrid rot. She's been my best cart horse since her pastern healed. I can't begin to thank you enough for the use of your fields."

As his hand brushed down her muzzle, the horse moved into him pressing against his chest. Erik reached up and stroked her mane. "Allowing me use of their muscle is thanks enough. Well, my sweet girl, can you lift this stone for me?"

"Honey."

Erik paused, cocking his head at Jacques.

"It's her name now. You were right, no reason for them not to have one. So I call her Honey for her coat."

"Alright, Honey. Hold for me now … " Erik took the stout rope from the crane and tethered it to the horse's harness. Once satisfied, I watched him examine the entire thing no less than three times. All the while Honey stood swinging her tail back and forth.

O'Hennesey waved a hand to us as he strode off toward the crane.

"Break's not over yet." Jaff called out as I scrambled to my feet beside a good third of the crew.

"Is for me." O'Hennesey replied.

By the time we crossed the site the block, was already easing into the air, Honey raising it up. Following O'Hennesey's lead, we grabbed onto trailing lines, helping to guide the block. The angle on my rope changed, someone behind me had grasped it providing a low steady pressure.

"Easy now."

I nearly leapt out of my skin! Erik was right behind me. It was his dirt covered fingers that I glimpsed out of the corner of my eyes. There was no time to ponder this … the block was raising, the weight carrying it on a natural arc into the slack. It was shifting to where he wanted it go, under the point of the crane's boom. We were all that held the stone back from a maddening swing.

We grunted, heaving against the weight of the block. Erik's own breaths came in harsh puffs. I could feel the thrum of the muscle strain against the rope.

"Hold it!" He called out, "Jacques, ease her up just a fraction more. Stop!"

Every hand held tight to the rope.

"O'Hennesey." Erik grunted, "mark?"

I could not see the foreman, but I heard his exertion on the other side. "A little your way!"

In the loose dirt, our feet dug in and we tugged and strained. "Now?"

"Mark!"

"Jacques, back her."

Painfully slow, the heavy marble block lowered into its seat. The last to release his line was Erik. O'Hennesey bent down to examine the placement. The two exchanged a nod before releasing the line. "Go ahead Jacques. Let her rest for a bit." Erik didn't wait to watch, instead he and O'Hennesey went right into fully setting the block.

"Grimaudo."

I snapped upright at my name. Erik beckoned me. He knew my name? He knew who a nobody apprentice was?

"Catch." He dropped the end of the length of chain into my waiting hands. "Pull it out and take it to that next stone over there."

I was light-headed, hardly from the heat … he knew my name!


	29. Chapter 29

_**Chapter 29**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

The carriages rumbled over the cobblestones, navigating through the river of people. Even examining the crowd with scrutiny through hidden glances, it was notable that not a stitch was out of place. Well tailored suits in spotless fabrics set off by fancy vests. Setarched white shirts with collars secured by satin ties. Canes topped in ivory or brass tapped leisurely along the walkways. Beside the dapper men, ladies strolled, adorned in yards of colorful fabric. Lacey frills spilled down from their skirts. Not a hair out place with their tightly coiled styles. They were out on their social strolls, smiling, chatting—clean.

Trudging along the edge of the walk, a breath away from being crushed by the passing carriages, I hung my head appearing as though studying the lengthening shadows. It had more to do with evading the barely concealed disgusted glances in my direction. It had already been a long day for me and it was hardly over. I was on my way from Reed's mansion to Hart's bank and I could scarcely have looked more out of place had I tried.

The knees of my pants had worn through this morning, letting the sun shine on my pale skin. I had scuffed them along the edges of the stonework, kneeling to get a better angle. The ragged blue Henley was so caked with a mixture of powdered stone and my sweat, that it was stiff and cracking under the strap of the bag containing my work equipment. None of this compared to the matted tail of my hair, gradually escaping its tether at the nape of my neck. I really should just take my knife and cut it short. But I never seemed to have a moment to do so. Besides, my hands were so raw I scarcely trusted them to grasp anything sharp. I was beyond filthy, covered in sores from flying shards of stone and daring to shamble down their affluent streets. Only the polite rules of society restricted them from saying anything.

I never thought I would yearn for the days when people stared only at my mask … in this moment I was bitterly aware of how little the stained white leather garment drew attention compared to the rest of me.

As swiftly as I could drag my weary limbs, I attempted to become invisible as I scurried down the street. I could have kept to the poorer avenues, but it would have meant a great deal more blocks at the risk of collapsing in exhaustion. With envy, I glanced up as a carriage rumbled past me. What I wouldn't give for a chance to ride in one right now. To be able to reach my work sites in far less time and not be degraded to a work mule. Ah well, that was entirely beyond my resources. I was fortunate enough to have the rotation of Jacques horses to carry me up to the quarry. I would not abuse that by using them around the city.

Music intruded my thoughts. Music different from the current I heard within my mind. This was music like I had heard before … music played on a stage by an orchestra. Music drifting down to echo within the vaults of the great theatre, my beloved Paris Opera.

Home.

I paused to find the door of a piano studio open to let in some air. Inside, rows of seated high society had gathered, listening to a full orchestra playing Mozart. Drifting towards the door, I leaned against the frame. My eyes closed, the music carrying me back to those evenings when I reclined in my hiding place in box five. Back to when I wore suits of finest fabric tailored to my specifics. When I whispered my demands to the managers of the opera on how it was to be run … and they had listened. Back to when I made it a business of being somebody … by being nobody.

The music. That was what I had missed the most. The way it moved me to joyous heights or exercised my bitter soul when it raged against the bonds of this world. I could, and certainly had, played my violin on my own. But it was never the same as the impact of a full orchestra. The swell of the crescendos, the delicate pianissimo.

I was lost … adrift on the tide of the music.

Something pushed me away from the door. I stumbled backward, knocked off balance. When I opened my eyes, I stared down the length of a cane. The man brandishing it glared at me with an air of complete revile.

"Move off! Laborers have no place here."

Standing up straighter I was about to reply when one of my chisels clanked against the cobblestones.

Laborer. The calloused hand that reached down to retrieve the rogue tool betrayed that unfortunate status more clearly than any scrap of clothing on my body. Under his stern gaze I fought to keep the trembling from my hand as I stooped down. Tucking the chisel in my bag, I turned and slunk away … the music faded, drowned in applause.

No place here. Staring at the fraying cuff of my shirt I sighed. He was right. As I was now, this place of leisure and affluence was beyond my reach. Well beyond it. I was a creature to be reviled for a different reason than before. Now I was a beast of burden.

Another carriage pulled past me, stopping in front of a men's club. The driver opened the door blocking my path. Voices chattering away precluded a handful of men exiting for their dinner. Nearly all of them I knew, for I had seen them gathered at the knoll. Every one of them flashed a diamond ring on their fingers as they patted each other's backs. The last one to exit was none other than VanHollus.

"Gentlemen, I trust we can celebrate this evening." VanHollus grinned.

None of them even so much as glanced my way.

"Come, come, what is the occasion?" One of them asked.

VanHollus put his hand on a man's shoulder. "Shaw here has made wonderful progress on the bank for that petty little wager against that ridiculous little architect who thinks he can build in **my** city. Victory is as sure as mine."

Shaw quietly remarked, "I daresay you should come down to the site at least once and ensure I am interpreting your designs properly."

Turning his nose up, VanHollus delicately wriggled his fingers in the air. "I have no desire to get stone dust upon my clothing, my dear Shaw. I trust that your excellent crew will carry this out to my letter. It does not matter what that waif of a man designs. My building has already won."

"Well of course," the first man grinned. "After seeing your competition, that man has to be completely out of his mind to think he has any hope of building so much as an outhouse. I mean truly. Had I not seen him hold a sword for myself I would have wondered if he could even lift a quill to write. Delusional."

The men laughed, filing into the club. I stared at their backs, employing every ounce of self control to simply remain where I was. My hands pumped into fists yearning to strangle each and every one of them.

But especially VanHollus!

Here he was spending his days in leisure, drinking wine and eating lavish meals while hired hands constructed his building. Ink on paper was as far as he went in his labor.

Meanwhile, I was left to scramble between three build sites, stripping the flesh from my bones for my pains, sweating out more fluid than I possibly could hope to drink, while starving from lack of time to eat.

Already he was celebrating his victory. Already!

Oh, I will take that egotistical decree, carve it into a weapon and bury it into his overfed carcass! He will never see this coming in his ignorance. I will turn every eye of society my way!

Fortunately, decades ago the world had taught me never to expect anything to be fair in life. Thus, I wasted little time envisioning their fates at the door to their lavish world. Fine, let the wine sour in their bellies. Mopping the sweat from my neck, I pushed myself towards Hart's build site.

While they feasted, I had a vault to secure. Its hand carved gears clanked in my work bag with every step.

 _ **~Erik~**_

Sweat ran in rivulets beneath the blazing sun. Nothing was evaporating in this humidity. With each swing of my mallet, the drenched tail of my overgrown hair lashed the side of my neck. Every thread of my clothing was bathed in my sweat, to the point of dripping. Fueled by my run-in with VanHollus days ago, I had come to live at the work site. After a long night squinting in the lantern light struggling to get ahead of schedule I had thought I would welcome dawn. Now, as I fought for breath in the muggy atmosphere, I longed for a bit of relief. But, there was no time.

I had spent the last half hour setting my chisel in a block for a rough break. Such a simple task, really. All I needed was a straight cleave to render the piece workable. All I had managed to do was wedge my chisel irretrievably.

"Today is off to a great start," I grumbled as I brought the mallet into a hard strike. A spark bloomed briefly on contact. This was a task an apprentice could achieve. An apprentice!

Bringing it back, I took in a deep breath and slammed it down. Every bone in my arm vibrated with the impact. The taxed muscles of my body protested as I lifted the limb against the burn of fatigue. The damn stone should be breaking apart, a dozen strikes back!

Around me the sounds of chisels rang in the air. My crew was hard at work on their own tasks.

So much to be done today. Here, at Hart's bank, I needed to get this north wall laid out before sunset so that the rough cuts could begin. In the upcoming days I would need to come in and finish the detail work. At the same time, there was the support columns for the entrance that required my supervision.

Bringing my mallet back, I struck the chisel and hid a curse in my forced breathing. No progress.

Reed's conservatory had three of the six main arches approaching the rough cut phase. Somehow I needed to get across town at some point and cut the first one for the rest to match.

Another strike and my chisel defied me, remaining wedged belligerently in place. I snarled as I yanked the mallet back into the air, adjusting my grip. Every muscle in my body burned, whether from the heat of the beating sun or the exertion. I could no longer tell.

Far up north by the quarry, I had to break out a few more blocks of limestone and prepare them to be set into the walls of my house if I ever expected to escape the Bowery tenement. I had to get out there. It was bad enough to have Reed stumble upon my shameful dwelling. I had nowhere respectable to met with a client. A house up by the quarry was my only means to remedy that!

I screamed with rage as I drove the mallet downward. Cracking erupted into the air.

But it was not stone. In my stinging grip I felt the warm fluid from the blisters. The oaken handle of my mallet flexed as I tightened my hold against the slippery fluid. In a series of rapid blows I punctuated each strike with a word.

"Spawn—of—brimstone—I—will—break—you!" With all I had left in me, I reared back and drove the mallet down with both hands. A tremendous snap precluded the vision of the tool's head ricocheting off the chisel only to soar above my shoulder and land with a clatter over a meter away. While half of the splintered oak handle still remained grasped in my bleeding fingers, I stared at the defiant chisel still wedged in the unbroken stone.

How dare it! How dare this incompetent piece of metal refuse to budge! My fingernails dug into the wood, the muscles in my arms trembling as the fury welled. Silence descended. Not a sound as I stared at the chisel winking in the sunlight.

What the hell was I going to do with a broken mallet?

I turned and launched the handle into the air, roaring out a series of curses from across the Eurasian continent. The eyes of every crewman were set upon me in a range of expressions from apprehension to all out horror. I could not stop myself. My blood boiled as I spun and delivered a violent kick to the chisel.

The damn thing chose that moment to pull an Excalibur. The gleam of metal teased me as it flew free of the stone and went spinning through the air. It landed in a series of clangs.

For a long moment all I could do was lean there, huffing the steamy air in and out of my lungs. I stared at the ineffective hole left behind in the stone, clenching my fists as the blisters wept. All that time wasted! All for nothing. What was a stone mason without his mallet? What could I possibly use now?

Thrusting my hands into the air, I roared out an invective in Latin to be certain God understood me and stalked off across the yard. I felt every eye follow me. Every man I employed on this site had born witness to my tirade.

I had to get out of the sun. I must find a place to collect myself.

Seeking refuge behind a half finished wall, I ducked into the shade. I faced the wall leaning on both hands. Every fiber in my body screamed out for mercy. My arms trembled from the torture of the endless days. I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. I swore I was seeing things. The wall looked as though some idiot had been painting it with a sponge.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that idiot was me. The raw skin of my hands slid down the rough surface leaving behind streaks of blood diluted by pus. I stared dumbly at the palms. Had there been pain? Pain I had been ignoring? Of course. Just like the deep ache that was penetrating every fiber of my body.

Flipping around, I sank down against the wall, letting my back rest as I hung my head and tried to collect my frantic thoughts. So much road upon my shoulders. So much needed to be done by a crew of men I hardly knew. A crew cobbled together from remnants of others. The three work sites were all a mark of honor, none of them could go neglected. And yet … my flesh.

The moment I tried to close my hand I regretted it. In my mindless tirade with each strike of that splintering mallet I had literally been destroying my hand. Why had the task been so daunting? Giovanni had taught me how to split stone effortlessly.

It was so simple. Just find the weak point …

Bloody hell what a fool I am! I never examined the stone. In my haste, I had thrust the chisel into the stone and whacked away at it like a novice on his first day. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot!

I never made mistakes like this. Such an infantile oversight and now I had broken my only mallet for my pain. So much time wasted leaving me feeling as though I had been stretched and beaten upon a rack. All in the plain sight of my crew.

I cringed. That was the worst of it all. They had born witness to the folly of my temper.

Here I was a grown man, the master stone mason and architect, their employer … and I just behaved like a spoiled child. For what? Because I managed to wedge a chisel?

I swayed to my feet, requiring the wall to take my weight until my limbs ceased their shaking. Fatigue was a mild word for my condition. But I had no choice. I could hardly go home and lie down. Not after that delightful display. My actions left me with but one choice, to go back out there and rein in my temper. I had to somehow repair the mallet to a semblance of a usable tool and work beside the men I commanded.

"I may rest when I am dead."

Dragging my fingers along the wall, I swallowed deeply trying to steady my breathing before I left the shelter of the wall. Vertebrae by vertebrae I forced my back to straighten even against the pulled muscles. By the time I reached the discarded handle, I was walking as normally as my fatigued body could achieve to cover its condition. Picking up the haft, I made my way calmly to the broken off head and collected it.

The crew had resumed their tasks, but out of the corner of my eyes I noted their guarded glances. No one approached. In fact, paths seemed to be chosen to give me a wider berth as I rummaged through supplies for a strip of wood and some leather for binding.

It was no small feat lining up the splintered wood. The support piece overlapped the break. Wrapping the tough leather strap around it numerous times I tested it with a few swings. It seemed to hold, for now. If only I had a replacement handle. But that required funds I could not spare. The edge of the brace rubbed against my palm, aggravating the open blisters. I would have to replace this handle sooner or later. The only alternative was to borrow another crew member's mallet … as the master mason I could hardly do such a thing.

Taking a deep breath, I strode purposefully across the site, collected my chisel, and knelt down beside the stone. With a gentle tap I did what I should have in the first place—searched for the weak spot. In less than a minute I felt the vibration reveal its secret.

A few gentle taps and the chisel was set a fair distance from my folly point. Drawing back the mallet, I gave it the first drive with some restraint. The handle repair held but it felt miserable against the raw skin. The second blow produced a hairline crack. The third split it right on that line.

I bowed my head and simply took a few breaths before collecting my chisel.

I worked hours in isolation, stoically tapping off the rough cuts for several stones as the crew appeared to do everything to avoid disturbing me. I did everything I could to display utter indifference to cover my battered pride.

I was kneeling beside a stone, gauging the cut when a harsh whispering invaded my consciousness.

"Go on, Grimaudo. You go ask him."

"Me, sir?" His voice cracked. "But … why me?"

Another voice answered, "Cause you are a young man ... less likely to strike you."

"Sir?"

"It's alright, Boy. Just keep your distance."

Footsteps over my shoulder, the hesitant approach of the apprentice. I feigned not to notice, mainly because the temper still broiled below the surface only partially mastered. It would be unjust to lash Grimaudo for my own mistake.

He shuffled to a stop. "Ma … Master Erik?"

"What?" I replied as shortly as possible, leaving no time for a tremble to betray me.

"Master Erik, the men, the uh … crew on the west wall need your … uh … guidance for the next stone. Seems it is, umm, not lining up proper."

Settling the chisel and mallet down on the stone in a forced fluid motion, I pulled myself to my feet. I hid a sway in a step forward, acting as though a bit of stone dust on the frayed cuff of my shirt offended me. I was covered in debris, what was one fleck? With measured words I met his timid gaze, "How is it flawed?"

His fingers twisted around one another. "Sir, I truly don't know. I was sent to fetch you with those words precisely, Master Erik." Eyes flicked to the mallet where I had left it. He could not hide the cringe.

I gestured for him to proceed, "Well then, you have done as requested, Grimaudo." Allowing him to take the lead, I could at least let my shoulders slightly fall as I walked behind. My eyelids were threatening to close beneath the noonday sun. Steeling myself as we crossed the site, I tried to dredge up potential solutions for the problem, hoping it would be nothing more than an improper cut. Grimaudo only gave a fleeting glance over his shoulder once to be sure I was still following. He held a tense silence.

The men had sent him to me. Rather than come and inform me of the error themselves, they had sent the apprentice to be potentially punished by their master. Ordinarily that would have bothered me. But after this morning's unfortunate display, I truly could not blame them. And yet, they had only proven that young Grimaudo was more a man than they were. An amusing detail I took note of for later.

The moment I came around the corner, every man snapped to attention, their eyes wide with apprehension. The foreman tugged on his neck scarf, "Master Erik, sir. Forgive us for disturbing you but … "

I came to a halt and crossed my arms over my chest if only to hid my hands. Fixing him with a calm stare, I nodded to the apprentice. "You sent Grimaudo and he has delivered the message well as you have sent it. I wish to make one thing clear to every last one of you. I am not angry that a mistake has occurred. These things will happen, even to the best of us." I paused, collecting myself once again. "I am, however, rather annoyed by the manner of which I was informed."

Grimaudo audibly swallowed and quailed back. I stepped in his path blocking his retreat.

"O' Hennesey, from this day forth I expect you to not send another man in your place with a message unless you may be holding a stone from toppling. It is your duty to present yourself in such situations."

He twisted his fingers in the fabric, his eyes widening. "It's just that … well … sir … "

I inclined my head. "You have something to say?"

With a swallow he looked down and shook his head.

"Good. Now, present yourself like a man and let us solve this dilemma. Come, show me what has happened." I pulled my hand out and gestured. At that moment he glanced up, then swiftly back down. I could not hide the evidence in time.

The rest of the day the wind carried their unfortunate whispers.

 _ **~O'Hennesey~**_

The cart bustled over the cobblestone streets in the soft pre-dawn light. We had already left the men at Reed's mansion. The remainder came with me to Hart's bank. Davidson stretched as the cart pulled up to a stop. I hopped off the back, my tool bag rattling from my shoulder. "So starts the day, Lads. Same division as the past weeks. You know the routine. Let's make it a point to get that corner completely roughed out by dusk."

Young Grimaudo had ventured ahead of me, ever eager to prove his worth. Amusing, seeing as how not a single man on the site questioned his worth. He had proven himself ten fold and was a diligent worker. I saw him pause for a moment, then he doubled back. "Foreman. That corner should be no trouble … it's nearly done."

"Silly lad." I ruffled his hair. "We only just started the layout last night."

My words left me as I came around the corner. Master Erik had his shoulder against the wall, the flicker of a lantern casting its rays over the carving. I could not even begin to take in how much the work had advanced overnight.

Davidson came to a halt beside me. "By the hair of St. Peter's beard … did he even leave last night?"

It was far from the first time I had asked myself that same question. No one had dared to voice it before. Even now I would not venture to, for I saw Erik shuffling his feet to get a better angle. Both the chisel and the mallet handle were basted in his blood. His hands … dear God, it stung me just to look at them. Muttering savagely, he continued to beat the chisel with a relentless cadence.

"Finish this … must finish this … at all cost. One more stone, one more cut."

The man looked like someone had dragged him up to the quarry and back behind one of Jacques's horses at a frantic gallop. I had done everything I could in the last few days to avoid interacting with him … his eyes. The stare of his obsessed gaze made me question if I worked for a man or a hellbent monster.


	30. Chapter 30

_**Chapter 30**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Weeks went by in their monotonous pattern. It was as if I shared a dwelling with a ghost, for that was all the sign I had that Erik still lived. Items moved in the apartment but I never saw him. In the blazing heat of the summer, he bustled around the three building sites without seeming to pause. Reed's conservatory, Hart's Bank, and a mad dash up to the quarry to build on the foundations for the humble dwelling he was constructing. The humble dwelling that was a desperate attempt to escape this tenement. I could only guess where he was at any given time by the missing draft from the table. If he slept, which he must have on some nights for the cloak he slept beneath was disturbed sporadically, it was only in the small hours of the night long after I collapsed from my day labor and before I rose again. In the flurry of activity, his suits were left to gather dust. The work clothes discarded long enough to dry from the sweat of the laborious days, gathered rips and tears beneath caked layers of stone dust.

Limping home with my humble wages, I did not envy Erik his workload, even though I knew he had given in to his element. He was balancing three projects at once with teams he had yet to truly learn—and they were learning the exacting price of working for their perfectionist master. Even around the labor lines I heard whispers of the build off and the strange man who dared to wager against the giant that was VanHollus. They spoke of the mask, but even more so they spoke of how hard he pushed the crew. Demanding the impossible … and delivering it. Erik was a task-master, but his crews were earning a reputation for producing miracles, and they had yet to even complete a project.

Reed's conservatory had fingers of delicate stone rising into the air and was the talk of the city. Elite men of society dropped by his house just to peek at the work. The bank's foundations were glimpsed by a few men who dared to trespass only to spy Erik perched on scaffolding, swinging a mallet by lantern light on the abandoned site. He was relentless and the projects were all gaining ground at an astonishing speed.

His aim had been to gain the eye of society—he had their rapt attention!

Opening the door to our apartment I tossed my earnings on the shelf. I shuffled across the floor and picked up the bucket, the remainder of the water inside a welcome sight. I was drenched with sweat and in serious want of a good rinsing.

It took me a moment to light the candle. The meager rays of light banished the darkness, casting a shadow on Erik's drafting desk … his tools.

His tools?

What happened to the mallet? I did not recall it being wrapped with leather. On closer inspection I found the indentations of his fingers in the wrapping, signifying that the modification was at least a few days old. If I was not mistaken there was a second piece of wood bound to the handle … as if broken?

I lifted the candle and searched the room, which seemed to be deserted. It's not like there was much in our room. Maybe he stopped back and left them by accident.

Resigned to the thought, I sighed, my hammock looking really inviting about now … wait, I blinked in the dim light as I thought I saw a shadow. Coming closer to Erik's hammock, I saw not the cloak normally laid over the edge that he employed as a blanket. No, this cloak had a person beneath.

Erik lay about two-thirds on his hammock, appearing as though he had fallen into it. Still dressed in the rough Henley, his left arm hung over the edge dripping with sweat. Caked with stone dust, he almost looked like a crumbling statue. Gently I reached under his chin and released the cloak clasp, pulling back the dusty garment and was in for a shock. Erik's hand glistened with blood.

Leaning down, the candlelight revealed countless slivers of stone embedded in his flesh.

"Erik." I whispered hastily, shaking his shoulder to wake him. But he did not so much as stir. Pulling his leather mask off, I laid it aside, using the corner of his cloak to dry the sweat and free him from some of the debris. There was no response, save his exhausted breathing.

Leaving the candle, I fetched a bowl of water and a cloth. The chair from the desk scuffed the floor as I pulled it over. Against all reason, I dared to reach into Erik's shirt and found the hilt of his blade. The short knife slid easily from the sheath. As I expected it was sharp.

Taking Erik's swollen hand in my lap, I began the delicate task of prizing the stone splinters from the raw flesh. No simple feat with the edge of the blade, but they could not remain. There was no possible way they were not painful … shards spanning the joints, digging into callouses. The palm was covered in all stages of blisters … some half healed, others threatening to burst. I dug out splinters of wood that had worked their way fairly deep.

Rinsing the blood from the first hand, I checked my work before dressing it with an old scarf, careful to wrap each of his fingers separately. The entire time Erik never so much as groaned.

By the time I finished his other hand and had it soaking in the bowl of water, his eyes cracked open. With a half-hearted struggle he attempted to lift the hand from the water. It took next to nothing to hold it in place.

"Easy, easy. It's just me, old Nadir." The water tinted pink in the candlelight, his fingers tried to close against the angry flesh. I half expected him to strike me. "Let it sit in there for a bit. You'll be alright. Trust me, you'll thank me for this in the morning."

A heavy sigh dropped his chest, the eyes drifted closed before I had the chance to dry his hand off. Beyond exhaustion, Erik had already succumbed to a deep sleep.

Tying a knot to keep the second bandage in place, I rolled Erik the rest of the way into his hammock, freeing the cloak he typically slept beneath and laying it over him. The candlelight revealed every nick and cut he had suffered for his labors. Every muscle in his body abandoned all tension. Erik was dead to the world. The constant strain of the days took their toll and forced him to cease.

"Rest. You truly need it. I wish one of these years you would learn there is a limit to your endurance. How troubling it is to see you collapsed in slumber." The question would be how swiftly he could resume.

It was hardly a surprise that, by morning, while I tended the porridge I turned to find Erik extracting himself from the hammock, the edge of the cloak hanging off his shoulder as he unsteadily rose to his feet. Blurrily, he took in the bandages on his hands. The moment he tried to close his left hand he winced, releasing a hiss.

Grasping the knot with his teeth he tugged the old scarf off and glared at the raw flesh. It looked better than the other night, but there were still numerous tiny punctures on his hand. Freeing the other hand, he entirely ignored my presence as he staggered over to the desk.

"Breakfast is nearly ready. Where do you think you are off to?"

He hardly turned my way, reaching out towards the tool bag that had spilled on the desk. "Back to Hart's building site. There is much to do." His head was hanging, the after effect of the exhaustion.

"What do you expect to be able to do there?" I eyed the fingers of his hand, stiff and straight. They were covered in tiny scabs, the palms with weeping blisters, I could only imagine how badly they stung.

"Work." Erik snapped, his hand hovered over the repaired mallet. He shifted it left, then right. A frustrated glare grew in his eyes as the muscles flexed but refused to close all the way.

Spooning some porridge into a bowl, I carried it over to him with a slow shake of my head. "How will you do that when you can't even pick up your broken mallet?"

"I … I have to keep things going down there. The deadline." He forced the fingers to close around the handle with a wince. The moment he lifted it from the table his grip faltered and the tool fell. "Damn it!" Erik yelled, trying to grasp his hand with the other and finding both of them unwilling to obey. "I do not have time for this!"

Laying a hand on his shoulder I felt the muscle spasm beneath even as I saw him flinch away. "Erik, you need to take care of yourself."

Glaring at me, he hunched over his injured hands, "There is no time, if I am to honor the deadlines—"

I placed the bowl on the edge of his desk. "If you reduce yourself to a bleeding husk then VanHollus will win. Why weren't you wearing gloves when you work?"

"I cannot feel the stone through them." He tried to close his grip again and failed, swallowing another hiss. "Damn it all, now I cannot feel much of anything. There is no way I can grasp my mallet, let alone even a simple chisel. This is most … most … inconvenient."

Gesturing to the bowl I suggested. "Eat something. Once we have breakfasted I'll prepare that salt soak you showed me. Perhaps that will help."

"Hardly in enough time." He replied dismally. But I watched as he carefully balanced the bowl, bringing it up to swallow a few mouthfuls of the boiled grains. "VanHollus's building grows by leaps and bounds under the construction of various crews. I am limited to the skeleton crews I have reaped from the demise of the other architects. The vault is built and encased for mine, but so much needs attention... the rough stone work all the way up to the dressing. I have been over every stone of all the projects non-stop from dawn until dusk."

His eyes were half closed. One night's sleep hardly scratched the surface. From the odor drifting across the room I had to wonder when the last time he'd spared a moment for a change of clothing.

"Erik, you are being watched."

He sat bolt upright, glaring out the window from the desk.

"Not now." I chuckled, waving a hand for him to sit back down. "Down at the work sites. People have noticed and they are talking. If I have learned anything from you in all this time it is the risk of letting weakness show. Right now it is critical that you take care that VanHollus doesn't get a glimpse of this or he'll use it against you. Stay here today, rest. Tend the sores on your hands. When you go back out there give them all something to talk about. Show them the unrelenting Erik I know."

"What are they saying?" He rose slowly, staggering across the room. Reaching the windowsill, he leaned heavily against it.

"They are marveled. They can hardly believe that an architect, and a master stone mason, works so closely with his men. Not only that, but with twice the stamina. They have glimpsed you alone on the sites long after the rest have gone home." I folded my arms and offered him a grin. "Men in the day labor lines whisper about having a boss such as you … one the like they have never seen. Rumor has it VanHollus is losing favor faster than a candle burns its wick."

"Good." Erik's hand half-tightened into a fist, scabs cracking free from the raw flesh as he winced.

"Come now, let me mix that up for you." I gripped his shoulder. "You're staying here, right?"

He shrugged, dust tumbling from the folds of his shirt. "I should have to open the door with my foot to leave … these hands of mine are useless."

"Sit down." I snatched the canister from the shelf.

The rest of that day I lingered in the apartment, intermittently soaking his hands while he slept. Cutting long strips from an old work shirt of his that was beyond salvaging, I set these aside knowing it would be a task to convince him to wrap his hands. He always spoke of feeling the stone.

For now, I had no reason to be concerned with him trying much of anything. Short of the time he was suffering the effects of poisoning, I had never seen him sleep so deeply. He barely cracked an eye open each time I clasped his wrists and lowered his hands into the salt water. Long stretches of time passed between with him lying motionless, only his exhausted breathing betraying alive. A true blessing to not witness wild thrashing from the horrific dreams that typically plagued him.

The sun was setting as I pulled his left hand from the bowl. There was a tremor to his muscles that had not been there before. I hesitated, holding his wrist and feeling the erratic pulsing beneath the flesh. This was all he needed right now.

Resting his hand on his chest, I set the bowl up on the shelf and fetched his pipe, preparing the opium and lighting it from a candle. Softly I called out his name, not wishing to startle him. "Erik … wake up. It's been too long."

He stirred, turning away and mumbling, "go away."

More insistently I pressed on his shoulder. "Erik, this might even help a little. Opium does have a benefit of pain relief."

The smoky tendrils drifted across his naked face. His head turned toward me, stiff hands reaching up for the pipe mechanically. When his eyes cracked open, they barely focused on the object of his burning desire. Somehow with the decades he had been an addict, I doubted it was as much the balm I had introduced to him. Now it was a wretched vice he could not function without. Having not seen him much recently, I had no idea when the last time he had smoked was. The tremor betrayed his vital need.

Neither of his hands would close around the pipe. Not that it mattered, I refused to let him even try to take it. Fire and fatigue … more than one opium den had burned down on account of a pipe tipping out hot embers.

I said nothing, simply holding the pipe in place and letting him suck in the sweet smoke. The most significant sign of his exhaustion was the fact that he didn't even attempt to argue with me. He permitted me to hold it for him. His eyes never fully opened, the lids only cracking open enough to find the mouthpiece. By the time the small corner of cake burned away, Erik let out a long exhale. All the tension left him, his hand dangling over the edge of the hammock.

I pulled the cloak he used as a blanket up to his chest and patted his shoulder. "May you rest in the peace of the breath, untroubled by the bite of the dragon."

After tucking the pipe back in its box, I extinguished the candle and climbed into my hammock. "Please Allah, let him still be resting by morning. Don't let me rise to find him gone, foolishly trying to push through this."

So rarely did things go in my favor that when I awoke shortly before dawn, I had to make certain I wasn't dreaming when I discovered Erik was still sprawled in his hammock. Good, that would give me a chance get keep him here. The longer I could force him to let his hands heal, the better.

I stirred the coal fire to cook some grains for breakfast. A bright light blinded me, followed by a rumble that shook the entire building. In the trailing silence the patter of rain beat on the upper windowpane, fat drops intruding through the opening.

Turning back inside the room I found Erik sitting upright, a weary scowl on his face. A second flash tore the sky. He flopped back down in the hammock muttering, "Even the elements of nature conspire against me."

Well, Allah, this was not precisely what I had in mind, but that was a well turned trick. Crossing the room I brought him the fresh bowl of salt water.

"Is it truly so bad? Think about it, Erik. With this weather they cannot build either. Perhaps this is a blessed respite."

He slipped both his hands into the bowl with a slight twinge as the water touched his raw flesh. It only lasted a moment before the tension released. Erik's voice held little intensity as he stared idly at the ceiling. "One day in building can mean the difference between a deadline."

I shook my head, "Can you even close your hands?"

He didn't answer. He didn't even look as he tried to flex the fingers and failed to do much more than shift them. A frustrated sigh accompanied a little splash of the water as he gave up trying.

"Today you need to rest."

"I rested yesterday," he snapped. And yet he showed no effort to rise. I suspected before the hour was out, Erik would be sleeping once more. His eyelids were already sagging.

Another bolt lit up the sky, the rumble of the thunder shook the floor.

Erik rolled his eyes and groaned, "This can not be happening."

"Well," I knelt down and reached for the bowl, watching him stiffly remove his dripping hands, "it is. And you are not going anywhere for a while. Looks as though the soaking has done as much as it can. I have some dressings prepared … "

He eyed me as I finished drying the injured skin and pulled over the first strip of cloth. "Nadir … "

I didn't let him go on. His protest ceased into a hiss as I started to wind the cloth around the left hand. "Maybe if you had paid more attention, this wouldn't have happened."

His response was a rude noise as he laid back. There was no cooperation in my dressing of either of his hands. Nor was there a fight. By the time I had finished, I had wrapped each of his fingers separately, the strips of cloth continuing to his wrists where I tied them off in a small knot I hoped he couldn't manage to untie on his own.

When I looked up, Erik had drifted back to sleep. Looking out the window the storm's dark clouds concealed any glimpse of the sun. I had no desire to wade out to the labor lines in this weather. My time was better spent ensuring that someone stayed where he needed to be.

The next morning, before the sun had even risen, a thunderous knock on the door startled me. I nearly fell out of my hammock. Twisting open the doorknob, I peered through the gap. A large hand pressed against the door that was now filled with a rather formidable man.

The landlord's brother and he looked rather peeved. "Alright you rat, the rent was supposed to be delivered two days ago. Where is it?"

Oh, crap! Erik usually delivered it. Nervously I glanced over my shoulder. The box, the box was up in the wall. Since receiving the advance from Reed Erik had resumed his method of storing the funds.

"I … it's … I … "

Pressing harder against the door, the man glared at me. "You either give me the money now or I will assist you in leaving through the window."

Cowering backward, I held onto the door knob for balance as my heart leapt into my throat.

"Nadir." Erik's voice broke through my panic, he spoke in smooth Persian. "Tell the man to wait, and shut the door."

I held my finger up and replied in as clear English as I could, "Wait a moment."

Anger turned to shock as I closed the door on his face. In a flurry I dashed to the wall fighting to open it. Erik's shuffled footsteps drew up beside me. "Move out of the way."

Stiffly, he knelt down in my place. I darted across the room, lighting a candle, returning in time to find Erik with his arm all the way in the wall. He was wincing as he reached. The catch released, dropping the box with a loud bang. Normally he caught it, but I watched as he shifted to avoid the collision. Painstakingly he removed the box and shifted through the money pulling out the rent payment.

Mechanically Erik rose and crossed to the door. He spared one swift motion to put his mask on before he turned the knob. Stepping out into the hallway he glared at the landlord's brother. Wordlessly he placed the fee into his outstretched hand.

The man twisted his gaze up into Erik's masked face. "Where's the collection fee, Freak?"

Erik stiffened.

"This was supposed to be delivered. It's two days late and I had to come and get it. Now it's extra, or out you go."

As much as his hands could, Erik was flexing them. The fire in his eyes promised retribution. I wanted nothing more than to grab Erik by the shirt collar and drag him back inside the room. But my feet were stuck in place.

"I'll tell you where the collection fee is." Erik's acidic reply was just barely audible. "It is in the roof that I was forced to repair because your brother could not be bothered, nor could he be troubled to pay for it. That is where your accursed fee is."

"Oh?" He tried to muster up some confidence, puffing out his chest. "You think you can just make your own arrangement, Freak?"

Erik flinched, taking a step toward the man. "If your brother had any honor he would have maintained this decrepit building. This is not worth the amount he charges."

"You can find somewhere else to slink to if you don't shut it."

One hand reached up beneath his shirt.

No Erik, don't even consider it. He isn't worth it. Then I remembered—the knife wasn't in the sheath. I had not returned it to him after prizing out the shards. By a stroke of luck, this man was saved.

Erik snarled as he leered over him.

"Nothing more? Alright then. Mind this gets there on time. Even a minute late you two can get out. Understand?" Without waiting the man dropped down the stairs. The moment he was around the first flight of stairs his steps increased.

Erik stalked back into the room. He stared at his hand, flexing it open and closed. Visibly he winced, but he shook his head. "Where is my blade?"

"I meant to return it. Truly, I did." I fetched it from the shelf and turned to find him slinging his work bag over his shoulder.

He snatched the blade, returning it to the hidden sheath without a word. Not even holding himself fully upright, Erik shuffled to the door.

"Against all reason you're going to push yourself."

He paused, hand on the doorknob staring at it soberly. "It is because of reason that I must go back today. I would not count on this roof being available much longer."

"Erik … "

Glancing over his shoulder he replied, "If that man wants his money he can come and get it himself. May be the final thing he does."


	31. Chapter 31

_**Chapter 31**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Erik had been here recently.

The moment I opened the door I could tell by the lingering scent from his opium pipe I had missed crossing paths with him by less than an hour. Collecting the wooden box, I set it back up on the higher shelf taking in the rest of the disturbances. Damp clothing lay discarded on the edge of his hammock. He had taken the time on this brief visit to at least attempt to pay attention to his appearance. So different from the fastidious man I had known, I could only hope this was merely a consequence of our current existence.

The remaining strips of bandaging I had cut for him were no longer on the shelf where I had left them. In their place I found the bucket filled with a pinkish liquid. At the bottom, a wad of fabric. Erik must be intending to clean and reuse them.

Good! He was being sensible and at least attempting to keep his hands covered. In the days that had passed since last I had glimpsed him, I had to wonder how they were faring with the mallet once more in their grasp. He had only paused for those few days, and then returned once more to his ceaseless toil. That wasn't long enough to allow the blisters and cuts heal. Wounds that would undoubtedly reopen under the onslaught of the daily punishment he was inflicting on himself.

With a sigh, I reached into the bucket and started to wring out the sopping strips. I hung them, one by one to let them dry before he would have need of them. It seemed like a dreadful waste of the day but Erik hardly had the daylight to spare for the task. And I had been unsuccessful in finding labor for myself this day.

I knew where the build sites were. For a fleeting moment I pondered searching him out, seeing if perhaps there might be some small task I could do. Scaffolding … heights … my knees trembled at the mere thought of it. Not to mention Erik's temper. The last thing he needed was the blundering of an old fool like myself to be tinder to his fury.

A gentle rapping on the door intruded my thoughts. Surely it would not be the landlord or his brother. Good heavens, it had not even been a week!

I opened the door and Chastity reached forward, embracing me.

"You're alive!"

"I … well of course … why wouldn't I be?" I stuttered in English, my hands fighting against the urge to caress her soft skin. The scent of her perfume twisted my will, weakening my knees until they threatened to buckle. How I had missed her on many a lonely night.

She released me long enough to gaze at my face, concern written all over her features before she grasped me once more. "It's been so quiet. So dreadfully quiet! Not even an argument."

I shrugged, extracting myself from her and stepping back inside where she followed me, looking around. "I would be pretty foolish to argue with myself."

Shock invaded her features. "Say it isn't so … "

"Wha … oh!" I had hardly intended to give that impression. "Erik, by Allah, no. He's fine … I think. At least I know he was here earlier today." I reached into the bucket and wrung out another bandage. Her eyes narrowed at my task, a finger rising up to point at the curiosity. "He's been … preoccupied." The word came harder to me.

"Your English has improved." She allowed a faint smile to grace her lovely face before it faded back to worry. "Nadir, I grew so used to the disruptions, then this spring it's been deathly silent. Each Saturday night I keep hoping to see you, to hear him play again. It's been … well, I haven't heard a single note up here since last autumn."

My eyes drifted to the violin case in the corner, discarded beneath his drafting table. Covered in soot and dust, he had not so much as opened it since Blanjini's death. Shaking my head I sighed, "Little chance now."

"Surely he has mourned enough. Surely he will play again."

I ran my hand down the bandage. His fingers … my shoulders fell. "Right now he would be incapable of doing so. I am sorry, Chastity, but Erik is so obsessed with his projects right now that I fear he is … "

When I couldn't quite get the word out she came up beside me, her fingers brushing the hanging fabric. "These … they're for him, aren't they."

I nodded. "Even with the flesh peeling from his bones, Erik will endeavor to push onward. This wager may become the death of him."

She grasped my shirt, her eyes widening. "Wager? You mean _he's_ the one building against VanHollus?"

"You've heard?"

"More than one laborer has bantered about it. Dear heavens … I have heard chatter from both sides. The crews both swear they will win. VanHollus is … oh Nadir, that man is about as underhanded as they come. Erik is in danger."

"The only danger Erik is in is working himself into a grave. VanHollus does not know what he did when he provoked him."

Her eyes trembled, she had yet to release my shirt. "No, you don't understand. VanHollus will never concede to losing. He will go to dire lengths to destroy Erik!"

Gently I pried her fingers from the fabric and patted her hands. "And as I said, he does not know what he did when he provoked Erik. Is there not some saying about immobile objects?"

She blinked, "You mean when an irresistible force meets an immovable object?"

It took me a moment in the unusual language, for Erik usually humored me in Persian. "Yes. That's it!"

"Nadir!" Her alarm increased, glancing at the desk with the drafting tools. "That is not a good thing! It usually means a catastrophe. The more that Erik tries to establish his architecture, here the more violent VanHollus will strike back."

"Erik knows how to defend himself."

"You're not listening." She tugged on my shirt once more. "There are worse attacks than physical. The men of high society are prone to playing vile games fueled by deceit. A man like Erik stands no chance against them."

I reached up and held her face to mine. "You don't know Erik like I do. He is not a simple musician." Of course, inside my heart was beating like a doumbek! Here I had hoped that side of him could be buried. That was the singular subject of our discussion on the way to the duel. If VanHollus pressed Erik far enough … Allah forbid it!

She shut her eyes. "Please, Nadir. Keep close watch over him. As much as we miss the Bowery Nightingale, it would be far worse to hear he had been … " She trembled.

I embraced her. "Hush. Erik will be fine. He is doing everything within his power to win this wager."

"That is what frightens me. Fate would be kinder if he would lose."

"Something he will never surrender to."

"It's Saturday. Convince him to play tonight. Make him remember the joy."

I rested my cheek against her hair, inhaling the sweet scent even as my heart sank. "There is no shifting him from that ambition. I have my doubts he is even aware of what day of the week it is. I am powerless to change his course once he has set it. Time has taught me that much. No, I must remain here, ever the watcher over him."

"Why?" She leaned back curiously.

"Because I am his conscience." I replied firmly.

She reached up. "Then guide him from this dangerous venture."

My head fell. I released her fully, turning to wring out the next strip of cloth. "You do not know him, or else you would never suggest such a thing."

Her hand rested on my shoulder as she pleaded. "Come down to the street tonight. I miss you."

A shiver ran through me. A deep yearning throbbed within my chest. My fingers ceased in their task.

"Please."

"I … "

"Nadir. You need this, as much as I."

I swallowed and shook my head. "This is where I need to be. You must understand the importance of all of this … " I tried to find the words and failed. How I wanted to go … but I … no, this could never be.

In the silence I stood frozen. It felt like hours passed before I heard her steps cross the room. The click of the door latched behind her.

Only then did I let the weight of her words crush me. I had been Erik's second in that duel. It had been my responsibility to protect him—not to watch him endanger himself further.

What had I done?

 _ **~Reed~**_

"I hear your new conservatory is coming along splendidly." Saybrook pressed the butt of his cigar in the ashtray on my parlor table.

I rose to my feet. "Indeed, it is. I should start charging a fee to view the progress."

He chuckled, rising up from the high-backed chair. "What must I pay for a private viewing?"

"For you," I mused, "shall we say that you attend this evening's festivities?"

Leisurely we made our way through the corridors of my house, Saybrook's eyes wandered over the many tapestries I had acquired. My weavers were gaining skills, taking lessons from the great masters of the past. Unknown to the public, I had hired a few Chinese immigrants to teach my weavers their secrets. The rush of business that followed could not have been better timed. The profits went directly into funding my recent investment.

"Of course I will be attending." Saybrook replied as the taps of his cane on my floor echoed in the hall. "Your parties are always so wonderfully charming. I simply adore how inviting your hall is."

"Some would not agree." I shrugged as I opened the door out to the courtyard where the sounds of chisels pervaded. Men scurried on scaffolding, focused entirely on the tasks at hand.

"Well, those who do not are hardly worth the consideration of their feelings." Saybrook came to a halt, tipping his head back to take in the fine arches reaching into the heavens. All but one were still thick and plain. The column facing us had been painstakingly carved into a series of delicate vines that gracefully looped and coiled throughout the structure.

"Astonishing." He breathed out. "It will all look like this?"

I nodded, savoring the familiar expression. "That is not even the fine detailed work yet. Just the rougher work."

"It is absolutely captivating." Saybrook's eyes roved over the entire pathway of the stone. "The architect is a visionary. Most unusual."

At that, I glanced up on the scaffolding, laying my eyes on the lithe man covered in stone dust kneeling before a section of the column. His mallet tapped a steady cadence on the back of his chisel. "I have no conception of how this works. But the design is absolutely bespelling. The man is a master."

Saybrook shook his head. "No. A marvel. That he can detail that work on paper so completely as to convey that to simple workers? That is the true miracle. I should like to meet this architect."

I gestured towards Erik's humble figure. "He is right there."

Holding his breath for a moment, Saybrook locked his eyes on the raggedly dressed laborer. Like so many others, he had clearly not expected what he saw. "He carves?"

"That is how he pushes the limits of the stone. Those hands intimately understand the stone he works." Those hands that recently I had realized he had wrapped in strips of cloth. There was a gingerness invading his motions. Yet, he contributed just a diligently as the rest of the crew bustling on my site. I was glad to see him here this afternoon. I was about to speak to Saybrook when Erik set his mallet down and glanced over his shoulder. At the sight of Erik's mask, Saybrook's eyebrows rose ever so slightly. Like a true gentleman he instantly caught the potentially ill-mannered gesture and replaced it with a smile.

"Grimaudo." Erik called out, beckoning him with a hand as the young man snapped to attention from the ground. "Bring your tools up here."

With haste the young man tossed the handle of a sack over his shoulder and climbed up to kneel on the scaffolding beside Erik. "Sir?"

Tracing the line of the stone he had been working on, Erik's voice carried over the wind to where we stood. "See the basic form I have shaped here … and here? I need this repeated on these four columns."

Before him the man tucked his chin. "Master Erik, sir, with all due respect … I'm only an apprentice."

Erik fixed him with a level gaze. "You believe that to be an oversight on my part?"

"Well, no Sir. Of course not. It's only that apprentices aren't permitted to do such work." He looked away and stiffened, "Sir."

Brushing his wrapped fingers along the stone, Erik eyed Grimaudo. "Do you believe yourself incapable of achieving this task?"

The young man reached up and grabbed his cap, wringing it in his hands. "I truly don't know. Never been allowed to try."

Erik gestured with his hand toward the raw column, "Then, it is time to test your skills."

Cringing back, he eyed the stone with no small amount of panic. "What if I make a mistake?"

To which Erik only raised a shoulder, "You will then learn how to fix it. I will teach you."

"Master … this is such an important … "

" … step for you as an apprentice," he completed. Pulling himself to his full height, so much taller than Grimaudo, he placed a hand on his shoulder. "If any question your task, send them to me. Now. Have you any questions?"

The cap was a tight twist of tweed between his fingers. "N—n—no Master Erik."

Grasping his own bag of tools, I watched as Erik crossed to the scaffold ladder.

Saybrook replaced his pocket-watch. "Terribly sorry, but time has gotten away from me. I really must depart. I shouldn't be late for a business meeting. Please, do forgive me. I'll be back this evening for your party. Don't trouble yourself, I know my way out."

I waved as he walked through the doorway. Even before he had left, I was already making my way to where Erik was climbing back down. He landed nimbly enough but I could not help but notice as he paused, flexing his hands one at a time and wincing. Covered in stone dust, his lengthy hair was escaping the leather cord he had tried to tame it with. And his clothing … not a single hem remained on his garments. They were rubbed to ragged edges by the stone.

"It's lovely already." I remarked as he turned. Those mismatched eyes of his widened in surprise. "Poetry in stone."

Twisting a bit, he gazed up to where the columns rose up to meet in arches. "The man I build for has exquisite taste."

I chuckled, "It is also rumored he throws an excellent party."

Distractedly, Erik was rummaging through his bag. "Also the mark of a good man."

"Join me this evening. I insist."

He stiffened, a chisel clinked inside of his bag as he straightened up to face me. "Reed, I truly cannot spare the time. If these projects are to remain on schedule—"

In his eyes, all I saw was a man weary beyond words but too proud to even suggest it. I placed a hand on his shoulder cutting off his excuse. "I shall not take 'no' for an answer. I can hardly throw a party without my guest of honor."

His eyes widened.

"This evening I invited my closest friends to come and see the progress of our shared vision." I gestured to the conservatory. "Despite it not being finished, many have desired a chance to converse with the man responsible. I require you here to answer their queries, and I insist."

Erik's gaze slowly fell to the ground. "I can not … much as I am … honored … Reed, look at me. I am hardly presentable."

I stepped away, waving for him to follow. To my surprise, as I walked through the halls I glimpsed his reflection behind me. Entering one of my guest chambers I stepped aside and waited for him to look up.

The moment he did his jaw slackened, hanging loose. Very slowly he crept into the room, his bandaged hand reaching up to caress the fabric.

Barely above a whisper, "Is that …. cashmere?"

"Yes. I trust my tailor is close to your measurements. I must say he found the task challenging to observe you while you worked. But I insisted you could hardly be disturbed for a fitting."

Reverently he ran his hand down the lapel. Reaching back up, he was about to touch the crisp white shirt when he drew his hand back. "I … do not wish to get it dirty. Reed, this is too much."

I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the spasm of the muscles beneath still radiating heat from his labor. "You are my investment. And a wise one indeed. Tonight will be the first opportunity to show society. Some men shower jewels on their associates. A textile merchant clearly requires his to be well attired."

The hint of an embarrassed smile flashed beneath his mask. His eyes strayed hungrily to the full dress suit hanging before him, the gold buttons winking in the gas lights.

"You have shown true dedication and I appreciate that." I released his shoulders and gave him a half bow. "Let me show you my appreciation by being the first to introduce you. Eat, drink, impress them with your knowledge. I repeat 'no' is not an answer I will accept." I reached into my pocket and produced a pair of brilliant white kid leather gloves. "My servants have prepared this chamber with everything you might need. It is at your disposal. There is even a bath drawn." I gestured toward the half open door.

Erik gazed at the door and I could see he was already drifting toward it, almost in a daydream. Remembering the humble tenement from that long ago winter night, I had to wonder when the was last opportunity he had for a luxury such as a bath.

Lingering with my hand on the door I pointed to a bell pull. "If you need anything my servants will see to it. You have a few hours."

He stopped, turned, and executed a full bow as he replied, "You humble me with your gesture. I am indebted to you."

I placed my hand to my heart, "It is an honor to be a patron of such a gifted artisan. Tonight, we will show them what a real master you are."


	32. Chapter 32

_**Chapter 32**_

 _ **~Reed~**_

Over the last hour a succession of guests arrived, the hand-picked selection of my closest friends and associates whom I knew to appreciate the arts. In this sea of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen, more than a few held critical influence over setting the trends of the elite. I greeted each and every guest, ensuring they were presented with the fine wines from my cellar and the delicacies I had my French chef prepare. Not a thread was out of place as my guests engaged in a low rumble of polite conversation over the quiet music of the hired quintet.

From the entrance to my ballroom, my butler tapped the floor with his cane, a prelude to his announcing, "Mister Saybrook of Tide Wind Shipping Company."

Crossing the room, we grasped gloved hands in a firm handshake. I could not help the little remark to my closest friend. "It seems like it was such a brief time ago."

He laughed, squeezing my hand a little tighter. News? "My dear Reed, what a fine sense of humor you have been gifted with." News indeed, for Saybrook beamed with mirth.

Releasing his hand, I gestured for a servant with a tray of wine to come forward. Saybrook selected a fine Chardonnay. At a quick glance, I knew he had been the last of my guests to arrive. Selecting a glass for myself, I tipped it toward Saybrook with a lift of my chin, "Do I hear the note for a toast? Do not harbor the news to yourself."

Lifting the glass, he hooded his eyes and quietly boasted, "When I left you I obtained the deed for the White Stag."

No wonder he had been eager for the meeting. He had been trying for no less than two months to convince Monroe to sell the ocean steamer. "Congratulations!"

"You know what this means." He hovered the glass by mine, not yet clinking it. With a wink he whispered, "I will be interested in that shipping contract for the silk threads you spoke to me about."

I held my breath. My eyes widened as I recalled the long ago conversation of my desire for a direct line to obtain my raw materials.

"Reed, I assure you this ship has the speed and fortitude to make the regular journey to the Far East and back. More than one man in this room can benefit from that. I want you to be the first."

We clinked glasses and drank, both smiling at the prospects. If I could get my materials without having to navigate various transfers on the other side of the world it would increase my ability to produce more textiles. Perhaps even produce more unique patterns.

"Please alert me when she is ready to depart. I will have a manifest waiting."

Saybrook took another sip of his wine. "Somehow I knew you would be excited."

"So many revelations in one day! I must take care and not to have this go to my head."

He paused, searching the room. "I say, that does remind me … is there not supposed to be some guest of honor this evening?"

It was my turn to smile knowingly. "Indeed, there is."

"When does he arrive?"

From the top of the grand staircase that swept into my ballroom, I noted a footman's discrete gesture as he glanced over his shoulder. "He is already here."

I raised my hand, index finger extended so that my butler could see the signal. Immediately he gave the floor two resounding taps. "Monsieur Erik of Shadowcrest Industries."

At the unfamiliar name all conversations ceased and just as I had hoped, all eyes searched the doorway by the butler for the figure that was not there.

Slowly, pointedly I lifted my gaze to the top of the staircase where, per my instructions to the servants, he stood.

This was not the man I had left in my guest chambers mere hours before. Not the shabby, dust caked laborer, bent from the toils of the day.

No. The man with a gloved hand brushing the railing, moved with a regal elegance. Every motion captivated the eye as he took the steps one at a time in a measured pace. Upright, with his shoulders back, he owned that staircase with each click of the polished leather shoes I had left for him. The suit, my God, I had the best tailor in town, and this daunting task had proved it! The fit and style could not have been more flattering for the man's gracile build. Black cashmere wool adorned with accents of brushed satin, the vest was crisp brocade that revealed the subtle tone on tone pattern in the gaslights with his every step. He had secured the collar of the starched white dress shirt with the length of simple black satin tied in a cravat. The black enamel and gold tie tack anchored it as it cascaded into the folds of the vest. Beneath the mask, which had benefited from a good washing, he held held his head level, his expression was stoic. When he turned I noted, with no small relief, that he taken the time to cut off the overgrown tail of hair, trimming it up neatly to feather at the nape of his neck. In the gaslights I noted for the first time the strands of silver invading the raven black. It had never entered my mind until now, what was the age of this man?

As he reached the bottom stair, Erik was approached by a servant. His eyes roved over the choices. With a stiff elegance, he selected the Chardonnay over the Burgundy. Long fingers held the stem in a delicate grasp. The regal display did not waver. With every step, he drifted through the crowd with a commanding air. Though no one approached him, everyone secreted glances as he passed by.

The footman who had signaled me approached with a tray. I offered him a nod of approval, whispering, "Well done. Your advice to him has ensured that my guest made quite an entrance. He appears to have the bearings of a true gentleman."

"Begging your pardon." He glanced toward Erik. "But I hardly had a chance to speak to him, Mister Reed."

Before I could suppress my shock I felt my eyebrow raise. "You said nothing to him?"

He nodded. "Only escorted him as you directed me. I had no chance to offer him the code of proper etiquette."

Swallowing a sip of my wine, I stole a glance at Erik's unwavering performance. Murmuring to the footman, I mused, "Tell me, how is it this man who engaged in common labor this morning portrays more the gentleman than most in attendance. Who is he?"

Lowering his gaze to the floor the footman, could only offer a little shrug.

I raised my glass a fraction while he still drifted with entitled indifference to the crowd around him. I noted curious conversations followed in his wake. "Well played, Erik. Well played."

Any concerns I had of the success of the evening evaporated. Tonight there was only one topic of conversation in my ballroom … who was this enigmatic stranger?

 _ **~Erik~**_

I belong here … I belong here … I … _do not_ … belong here.

Drifting through the crowd, I felt their inquisitive gazes boring into me as I passed. The facade of cold indifference was my one defense, the age old shield that had served its purpose in the past. The chimes of the clock announced that an hour had passed. An hour of sipping wine while indulging in hors d'oeuvres. That much I greatly appreciated. Astonishing how hunger presents itself when the hands are stilled. I rapidly lost track of how many of the savory little bites I was sneaking from the trays as the servants passed me by. A fine quintet performed exquisite music adding to the atmosphere of the evening. No one was dancing, but this was evidently intended to be a social affair.

Reed had already taken several trips from the room with a few of his guests. Their eager gazes searched me out the moment they recrossed the threshold. And yet, each time they made to approach I effortlessly evaded them, vanishing into the crowd.

The constant pounding of my heartbeat en guarde for danger was enough in my ears. I did not wish to hear it in my voice. As ridiculous as the notion seemed, I could not banish it. What reason would Reed have for threatening my life? What would he have to gain? He would not be so foolish as to have invited someone who might wish me harm … would he? True, I had been working with him for months now, but …

My eyes idly stared at the soft leather gloves concealing my raw hands from view. They were made precisely to my measurements, as had been all of my attire. No expense had been spared to ensure that I had the proper trappings to present myself, dignity intact. Paranoia. That wretched fear always biting at my heels that I could never manage to evade. Reed had everything to gain with this venture proceeding. I had but to convince myself there was no one here who would wish to stab me in the back or poison me. These were hardly the Persian courts.

Placing my empty glass on a passing tray, I was about to resume my aimless wandering about the ballroom when I discovered my pathway blocked by a couple of gentlemen, their ladies beside them. "Why, if it is not the talk of the evening. Mister Erik?" He held out his hand.

Hesitantly, I hovered my hand at my side. To refuse would be an intolerable slight. Clearing my throat I placed my hand to my chest first and offered a bow of my head. "Actually, it is Monsieur, at your service."

He tucked his chin. "My apologies, I had forgotten you are a Frenchman. Archibald Thompson."

The moment my hand was extended he seized the gloved palm and gave it a hearty squeeze. I inhaled sharply and resisted the urge to withdraw the courtesy. His tight grip aggravated the raw flesh concealed beneath my glove. In an effort to conceal the pain, I released a short laugh. "Born of France I may be, but no longer a Frenchman."

He released my hand, which I quickly held back to my chest in a seemingly purposeful motion. The gentleman beside him shifted his glass to his left hand. The moment I glanced at his face I remembered him. The piano studio, the cane pressing against my chest. His words rang in my head, _laborers have no place here._

Did he recognize me? Did he remember me now? A bead of sweat dripped behind my mask.

"Pleasure to meet you. Monsieur Erik." His gloved hand extended to mine, only curiosity in his eyes. "David Groves."

There was no disgust. No drawing back as I presented my hand to him. He gripped it firmly as my fingers wrapped around his. "The pleasure is truly mine."

Thompson glanced over his shoulder in the general direction of the construction. "When Reed proclaimed he had found hidden treasure, we all wondered if he was merely embroidering his tale. He is a textile merchant of course." The man chuckled at his own joke.

I refused to show a sign of belittling my employer.

"Coming here and seeing your design … well, never have I seen anything like that. Tell me, where do you get such inspiration?"

"The shape is within the stone. It takes the artisan's eyes to see it."

"It is marvelous." Groves stepped forward. "Reed has mentioned that you are taking part in the process of constructing his masterpiece, as well as another." The two men exchanged a wink. A vulgarity that surprised me though I did not reveal that. "Where did you receive such masterful instruction?"

"Italy." I replied crisply. "I was apprenticed to a master stone mason, honored with the gift of his many secrets."

Groves rubbed his chin, narrowing his eyes. "Did the accident happen in Italy?"

My breath seized in my chest. He was staring directly at my mask. No words came to me as the world began to close in. My hand trembled as I fought the instinct to reach into the tucks of the fine fabrics for my hidden blade. The facade threatened to crumble. I felt my spine bending defensively as the horizon shifted. If I did not leave here now, I would only leave under the restraints of arrest. Taking a step back, I bowed my head briefly, "Excuse me … I need some air."

As swiftly as I could, I found a secluded egress. Fortunate for me it lead into the courtyard where I found myself in hidden from the constant observation of the crowd.

I was gasping for air, leaning on a railing, fighting the roiling fire in my belly. Never, never could this work. They always saw the mask, always questioned what it hid. I could never escape this dreadful fate. No matter how well dressed I presented myself, this curse would always bring me to my knees. A reminder of just how flawed to the core I truly was.

"Erik?"

I opened my eyes, unsure of just how long I had closed them. Still leaning on the railing, I was no longer alone. Beside me Reed, rested his hand on the stone. Taking a few breathes first, I forced myself upright. "I just … needed a bit of air."

He allowed a slight tip of his head. "It's been an hour now. Your absence has been noted."

I exhaled sharply and looked away, my hand drifting up to the mask before I could stop it.

His hand intercepted the gesture, pulling my hand back down to rest on the railing. "They are in awe of what they have seen. Every breath hungers for a chance to converse with the man responsible."

"Not everyone." I sighed. "Reed, I appreciate the grand gesture. I know you went to a lot of trouble. But my time would have been better invested remaining with the chisel in my hand."

"I thought you wanted to bring VanHollus to his knees." He lifted one shoulder. "What will you build when these projects are finished? In that room is a trove of potential clients with the means to build mansions, businesses, the resources to select whichever architect they desire. This evening they have been brought here for one purpose. To meet you."

I shook my head. "Were that the truth … "

He held up a hand. "It is. Now, come. Let me introduce you."

If another stared, remarked … I had come close to seizing the blade before. However I now had little choice. Reed had grasped the cuff of my jacket and was leading me along relentlessly. By the time we entered the hall, he had released the garment. To my alarm we were walking directly toward Groves.

"Mister Groves." Reed lifted his chin. "Would you excuse me for the briefest moment."

He was gone. Before me, Groves darted his eyes to the ground. "I must offer my apologies to you, Monsieur Erik. I had meant my offense earlier in my inappropriate question."

Stalk still, I gazed down realizing that several people were watching the event play out. At social affairs such as this very little, occurred without witnesses.

With a bow of my head I waved my hand. "Think nothing of it."

More than one jaw hung slack, despite proper decorum. Grove straightened up with a tense smile. "You are a gracious gentleman, Monsieur."

Around us the circle began to close in, gentlemen with curious eyes and hungry ears as the questions left their lips. Rapt attention was bestowed on me as I found myself lecturing on the nature of stone and how each of the architectural components functioned. Between sips of wine, my mouth felt like cotton for all the answers I was bid to give.

By the end of the night, when the final guest departed, Reed found me sitting on a bench in his garden gazing up at the stars through the rising fingers of stone.

"If men could pluck the jewels from the heavens... " he remarked, taking a seat beside me.

"They would find it full of empty promises." I replied flexing my gloved fingers. "A man makes his own fortune."

"Tell that to those who inherited theirs." He chuckled. "No, on second thought, best not to. They are allergic to a bit of work."

A laugh escaped me. "You laid your own foundation."

He only had to nod. "Some respect that endeavor … others shun the lack of title. In truth, what should it matter?"

"One coin shines as well as any other," I replied dryly. "What a shame that some see a false tarnish."

We both gazed up at the bright stars for the span of a few breaths. "I trust you enjoyed sampling the food this evening?"

My hand drifted to my satisfied stomach. "I should say so, yes. Likely more than I have consumed this year. Certainly more wine, and a much grander quality than I can spare funds for."

"That pleases me." Leaning back on his hands, he let his eyes drift over the columns of stone.

"I had not realized how greatly I missed the more pleasurable things in life." That was a difficult confession to make.

"With your ambition, I would wager that soon enough, of your own accord, you will obtain them once again." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "You are a gentlemen of a caliber this city has never seen before. I count my blessings I was wise enough not to have stood in your way."

Rising to my feet, I offered him a full bow. "I must take my leave."

"Dawn comes early." He remarked with a smile.

I corrected him, "Dawn comes as it should every morning. Good night, Reed."

 _ **~Nadir~**_

My eyes snapped open, rousted from my dreaming by some sense of dread that I was not alone in the apartment. The light of a near full moon reached through the open window. I held my breath, grasping the edge of the blanket.

Breathing? Yes! And the strong scent lingering in the air. I knew it, but hardly did I expect the crisp tang of white wine to be drifting through our apartment. Weeks ago Chastity had uttered her dire warning of how very vindictive VanHollus could be. Had he discovered where we lived? Sent a murderous cut throat to ensure his victory?

Cautiously I edged up from my hammock, eyes straining in the rays of moonlight for any sign of intrusion. Everything was still. Where was the breathing coming from? Was it my imagination? Sitting up further, I glanced towards Erik's hammock and blinked.

He was in it! Lying on his back beneath the cloak, his blistered hands rested on his chest. Even in the moonlight I could see the layers of dirt were missing. Each exhale carried the scent of wine.

"Erik?" I crept out of my hammock, too curious to even exercise caution. His eyes cracked open before he rolled away from me. "Have you been drinking?"

"It would have been rude of me to refuse the hospitality of my investor." He sighed, "so yes."

Leaning forward, I squinted not trusting my eyes. But it was true! Not only had he bathed, his hair had been cut short. "Where have you been?"

"Socializing." His reply to the wall was rather short.

The work shirt he wore was relatively clean, but still … his investor … at a tavern? The wink of metal caught my attention. Gold. Golden buttons shining in a neat row. I climbed to my feet to lay my eyes on a folded dress suit equal to any I had seen Erik in before.

"How did you afford this?" I gasped, my fingers straying to brush the fine wool. So soft!

Erik heaved a loud sigh. "It was not purchased."

"Than how?"

"Reed."

"Why? This … the fabric alone … this would be very expensive."

"Nadir, I lost a lot of time today to my investor's festivity to which I was his main focus. It was far from an enjoyable circumstance for me to be flung into, even with the well-intentioned gift of the proper attire. I am as tense as a violin string. Will you permit me to get a little sleep?"

I lit a candle, examining the tight weave of the flawless fabric. It was heavy and very well tailored. Such finery, my mind wandered back to the Persian courts. As I drifted about, I heard Erik's frustrated exhale. I muttered, "I can only imagine the lavish food." Dinner for me had been little more than a bit of day old stew. "What was it like? Were there a lot of men? Did they speak to you?"

Erik's hand grasped the cloak and tugged it up over his head. "Go—to—sleep!" he growled.

Taking a hint, I extinguished the candle. Disappointed at not hearing the details, I climbed back into my hammock and settled under the blanket. In the moonlight the wink of the buttons called to me, telling me there was some fantastic story I would have to hope he would one day reveal.


	33. Chapter 33

_**Chapter 33**_

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

"Oh, this heat is intolerable. Enough to make a man appear indecent the moment he crosses his threshold. And it is merely June." I held my glass up, clinking my ring against it impatiently. A man came through the door, blinked stupidly at me, and only then dashed out of the room and back again to deposit a chunk of ice. "Really, the service at this club is entirely lacking. What say you, gentlemen? It is time to patronize another establishment?"

Polstern picked at the steak before him with disinterest. "No taste for their cognac here?"

Shaw tapped his fingers against the glass studying the ice as it tumbled in his drink. The man had been distracted at every meeting of late. At least today he was not tugging his gloves on and off like a child. Truly, one would think he had better places to be than taking supper with the elite.

I rapped my glass on the table and watched him jump. "Shaw, come my good man, what is your opinion?"

Taking a sip from the glass he shook his head. "My apologies, I have not heard the question. I was thinking … "

Polstern laid his fork aside. "About what?"

Carefully he set his glass on the table, the drink inside infused with a tremble. "The men of that new crew you have sent over last week, they have been talking."

I waved my hand. "The barking of street curs. Why should you care? Lash them into line and all will be well."

This did nothing to quell him. Shaw merely tucked his hands beneath the table. "They are working well enough. We have more than enough crews to complete the bank with all the attention to detail you require."

"The window." I raised my hand to interrupt him. "Did you deliver the design for the stained glass window?"

Jerking his head back, he blinked, lost for a moment before the words came. "Yes, of course. The finest crafter in the city will be assembling it with Hart's crest in the center. Precisely as you requested."

I raised my glass and winked. "Good. That settles it. The moment that Hart sees that tribute to his family the contract will be secure. We need go no further than the lobby. You see, Polstern, it is these fine little details that ensure success in these ventures. Hart's finest pride is in his family crest. To have that emblazoned in glass on the front of his new bank, he can hardly refuse."

Shaw did not raise his glass. Out of the corner of my eye I noted he was more agitated than ever. He murmured, "Some of the men have seen the other bank. Glimpsed it, talked discretely to the crew building it. The details are closely guarded, but there is nothing short of awe."

"Petty things." I replied. "What do common peasants know?"

Shaw leaned forward, continuing. "So I went down there myself. Spent the afternoon lingering. From a distance, I watched his crew working in ways I have never seen before. The carvings are rough—but unlike anything I have built for you."

Flattening my hand on the table, I replied blandly. "That is because this cad is an uncultured immigrant. It will likely collapse the moment a carriage rumbles by. That is not the best of it, I overheard that last week Reed was parading his pet in a little private party. Of course I was not invited. But they say that foolish architect came down the stairs posed in a gentleman's suit. Laughable. If you put a satin tie on a donkey's neck it is still an ass."

Polstern laughed. "I believe rumor has it that your challenger has been working on the stone himself. If the blundering fool can't get enough laborers to spare himself the work, he should surrender now."

Color flashed on Shaw's cheeks. Once more his fingers tugged his gloves off revealing his pale, flawless skin.

"There is no requirement for concern." I leaned back in my chair with a smile. "Let Reed walk his dog through his acquaintances in all the fancy attire his textile mills can churn out. When all is said and done, I shall have bankrupted that nouveau riche Reed and slaughtered any chances of this upstart from building against you, Shaw. I would finish him now if Hart would not suspect foul play. It matters not, I have had my hands full. Only this morning I delivered a blow to that insolent little mason, Albrecht. He has joined the ranks of those who dared to build in my city. I pay good money to ensure the status quo remains with those entitled to it. The only construction that shall take place in this city shall be under my direction. We will make an example of this."

Tugging his gloves back on, Shaw rose from the table. "I must take my leave, Gentlemen."

"We have hardly finished … "

He cut me off turning on his heel. "I beg your pardon, VanHollus, but I am only leaving to carry out your plans."

I snapped my fingers raising my glass once more for want of ice. "Well now, that was rather rude of him. And once more I am left to wait for service. What is the world coming to, Polstern?"

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Trust me, O'Hennesey." In the shade of the second story wall the foreman and I briefly escaped the oppressive heat. It had been a hard press for the crew.

"I want to, Master Erik." He lifted the draft and stared at it, his shoulders sagging. "But our crew is not large enough." Lowering his voice he fixed me with a sorrowful gaze. "I think we can both agree, we have plenty of men who can achieve the rough work. By now the lack of those skilled enough for the detailing … it is hurting us. We need more men."

I flexed my fingers. He glanced at my bandaged hands before realizing he had done so and hastily sought refuge in the plans. By his grim expression, I could only assume he was pondering what I was. Could I even hold my hand steady enough for the tasks.

I would. Because I had to, I would.

"We do not merely need more men, we need men of the right caliber to finish this. The question is where we should find them."

O'Hennesey rolled up the draft and shrugged. "Beg your pardon, Sir, but there aren't many who would dare to come here."

"Why?" I queried slowly, tucking my chin as I watched him stiffen.

"Well," he shifted, "it's cause of what happens to those who dare to stand against VanHollus. You know people like him have everything lined up to keep folks like us exactly where they want us."

"Precisely where is that?"

"You know." He tugged at the edge of his vest.

When he refused to go on, I injected sharply, "Educate me."

"As far away from his entitled kind as possible. Calls us the unwashed masses."

With a knowing nod, I brushed my hand across my rough shirt. "Hardly avoidable, things as they are. Tell me, how are the men enjoying life up beside the quarry?"

Instantly he brightened. "Wonderful! The air is clean, fresh water, even have a bit of harvest that we'll be able to take in this autumn. Already there are many houses in the hamlet. Larger than what we had down here in the tenements."

I cracked a grin. "As far away from the likes of VanHollus … as possible."

Astonished, O'Hennesey blinked. "Never looked at it that way."

I was about to reply when I heard my name frantically being cried outside. Dashing to the window I leaned out trying to locate the source. A flurry of activity made it harder to discern. But at last I spied Gallo waving his hat in the air.

"Erik! Where is Erik? For God's sake tell me he is here!"

"What is it?"

He looked up, hopping back and forth as though standing barefoot on burning coals. "Erik! You need to get to the Oaken Barrel tavern."

"This is no time for drinking, Gallo." Bad enough he had come here, screaming holy hell. I was not precisely keen on his letting all of Manhattan know his whispers were fueling this entire project.

"No!" He waved his hand over his shoulder. "Hurry up! They are there. Livid as a freshly gelded horse!"

"Slow down." O'Hennesey leaned on the sill beside me. "Who is there?"

"Albrecht and his entire crew! VanHollus screwed them out of the only contract they had to keep his company at work this season!"

Albrecht? I cast a glance at O'Hennesey who was speechless for possibly the first time in his life. "Who is this?"

He grasped my wrist, tugging me down the scaffolding. "Master stone mason Albrecht! He was the last one to build for Easton, a man who was put out of work last year. Albrecht tried to go it alone."

"Is he good?" Dropping down to the ground level, we both dashed for the doorway.

"Until I met you I thought he was the best! We need him and his men right now! Can you convince them to come and build for us?"

It was my turn to grasp his wrist. "I am sure you will be instrumental in that. Shall we go mortar our victory?"

The moment we set foot inside the tavern, I laid eyes on a man bright red with saliva frothing from his mouth as he spat out an endless stream of pleasantries he would like to carry out.

Placing a coin on the counter, I signaled the barkeeper. "Refill his pint, my good man."

"Who the fuck are you?" Albrecht raised his fist.

O'Hennesey clasped it and fixed him with a sly grin. "You might wanna listen to him."

The room was packed with masons, fire in their eyes. Sliding the pint his way, I grinned. "Word has reached me that you had a rough morning on account of a certain man."

Seizing the pint, he snarled, "I'd like to take that man and put him in the bottom of a bridge pylon, seal it up and leave him to suffocate in his own shit!"

O'Hennesey snickered. "Welcome to our little group."

I leaned forward and narrowed my eyes at Albrecht. "Sounds like you and I share a similar vision."

"It doesn't matter." He slumped over the pint. "That ass always gets his way."

"Don't be so sure of that, Lad." Placing a hand on his shoulder, O'Hennesey showed the stone dust all over his other hand. Proof he had been working. "Master Erik here aims to bury that bastard by October. And I assure you, he's got a vault all picked out for him!"

Slowly Albrecht turned, looking at O'Hennesey first and then studying me. "Tell me more."

The whole of his crew crowded closer at my sinister smile.

We had our finishing crew.


	34. Chapter 34

_**Chapter 34**_

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

Spread out in my lobby all the elite of society had gathered to witness Hart's choice. Well, the elite plus a certain straggling cur. Out of the corner of my eye I could hardly believe that he had the audacity to show his … mask … in _my_ building. That freak. With that emaciated frame of his draped in fine fabric, Reed had wasted a tailor's time and efforts on that suit. Should be on someone more deserving. Strolling through the marble hall, listening to the tap of my cane echoing, I forced the smile on my face trying to ignore his disturbing presence. It was better to glance at Reed than at … him.

Polite whispers carried through as the men cast their eyes over the fine carvings that I too was seeing for the first time. Shaw had immortalized my design well, right down to the elaborate fleur de lis friezes. Just as I had intended, not a single facing was left without adornment. Carved marble with gold leaved accents, it had taken no less than five crews dedicated solely to Shaw to make the deadline. As we walked past the locked corridor to the vault, I waved them along. "We shall return here in a moment, Gentlemen. First I want you all to turn and see the most prominent feature within the building."

Unreadable as stone, Hart turned and faced the enormous stained glass window. The rays of sunlight poured through, casting his family crest in bright colors across the floor.

"Crafted by the finest window maker in all of Manhattan." I paused for a moment, Shaw had told me the man's name but that insignificant detail vanished before I could say it. Ah well. "Everyone in the city will know the man who owns this bank simply by her beautiful facade."

"It's a bit … " Hart's voice trailed off as he glanced around, taking in all the details.

 _Luxurious? Gorgeous? Intricate?_

"Ostentatious, I believe is the word you are looking for." Worthington waved his hand dismissively. Hart did not continue.

A distant bang caused them all to glance over their shoulders, looking deeper into the bank. Perhaps a workman finishing something? I threw an annoyed glance at Shaw who nervously shrugged. The man was pale as the marble!

"Come come, my good friends. Let us proceed to the center of the operations." I strode past them all, gesturing to the elaborate series of windowed desks. "Everything is set up to awe the clientele accustomed to the … better things in life." Intending to offer Erik a smug grin I searched for him only to discover I could not find him among the sea of finely attired men. In awe of my presentation had he fled knowing he had lost already? Smiling, I proceeded to the vault through the secured corridors, unlocking the gates with my master key.

The immense vault door filled the end of the hall. The bronze combination lock winked in the gas lights. "Here we have the most secure vault in all of the city. I have taken care to select the best craftsman for the lock." Of course, I could not recall his name either. Ahh well, no one was asking. The men gathered close behind me gazing at the ornately carved door. Swirls of precious metal adorned it inlaid with mother-of-pearl chips. The door itself was worth a fortune.

I inclined my chin to Hart. "No other living being knows the combination that permits access. I shall provide you with it shortly. But for now … " Covering the numbered dials with my hand, I laughed quietly to myself, glimpsing them just enough to enter the code. At the final number, I smiled as I heard the heavy bar slide back. I turned to face the men. At a nod from m,e two servants came forward and pulled the door open. "The vault … "

Everyone stiffened. Hart did a full double take. Shaw fell backward against the wall. Even Reed leaned forward, rubbing his eyes. What were they looking at? I turned to face the glow of the inner vault and felt my heart stop for a moment.

Him!

Erik … how did he? The man was **inside** my vault! With his hands clasped behind his back, he was idly gazing up at the little boxes in a stance far more appropriate for a museum. At the audible gasp of the crowd, he turned with a mock start. "Pardon me. I had understood this was to be a full tour. I'm afraid impatience got the better of me."

Reed glanced all around, "Erik, you were beside me a moment ago! How did you get in there?"

Hart lifted an eyebrow. "Yes, I am curious. How **did** you get in there?"

Irritatingly slow, the intruder approached the door, all the while his gloved hands behind his back. "I should say it was really no trouble. The tumblers allowed my entrance."

"Tumblers?" I barked. "This is not a circus! There are are no tumblers in here."

Behind the mask, I thought I saw him fix me with a glance of mild surprise. Gesturing for the lock, he explained, "The tumblers within your lock. Hart, if you will be so kind, lay a finger here."

Before I could protest, Hart complied. Erik's fingers set the first dial into a slow rotation. He stopped it directly on seven, the first number. Hart balked.

"You felt it, did you not?" Erik proceeded to the second dial, stopping at one. "There is the subtle click that betrays the correct number." Deftly he spun the last one to two. "And there we have it. Interesting choice for the combination. VanHollus's birthday, if I am not mistaken." He dared to meet my eyes.

How—dare—this miscreant! How did he even know the date?

Hart reached up and toyed with the lock, his curiosity turning to a mild scowl.

"A lock can be replaced." I strode up. "Make nothing of that little detail. No extra for the service."

Erik rubbed his chin as the crowd parted before him. Wandering back down the corridor, he pondered loud and clear, "A secluded corridor with no direct line of site secured by doors with inferior locks that can be picked with ease." In between his fingers, I saw a small metal tool before it vanished. "A tumbler mechanism that whispers the entrance code. And yet not the most interesting feature."

The crowd drifted along in a current as they began to file back to the lobby. Once there, Erik stood in the center, his arm extended to the brilliant glass wall between the double set of doors. "A single rock no larger than a fist would provide ingress. Need not even be intended. A passing carriage could easily deliver the fatal blow. This institution would make the finest invitation for a forced withdrawal in the entire city."

Flabbergasted, I glanced at Shaw expecting him to defend his work. Did the man have no dignity? Shaw collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. Heat rose to my face at the insolent declarations of this … this … intruder!

"I should very much like to see the building from … Shadowcrest Industries, was it?" Hart gestured for the door.

Erik offered him a bow. "Right this way, gentlemen."

With a burning desire to stab red hot pokers into the back of that cad, I followed the other the short blocks to the site. The conversations around me failed to register. How could this man hold such confidence in himself? His design could not hope to hold a candle against mine! That's it. He had to make such infantile assumptions in an attempt to make his own look better because he was afraid he would lose.

Taking a deep breath, I laid eyes on his pitiful building for the first time. It was laughable! Wasn't even finished. Some of the marble bereft of any design element. What fool leaves blank space? It was a petite three story affair less than half the size of mine, built in strict Romanesque style.

We filed between the columns into the tight little lobby to gaze into the center of the floors which had been left open. The glint of gaslights off mirrors set into balcony height caught my attention. What a silly decorative effect, an attempt to fan vanity?

Erik placed a hand on Hart's shoulder and turned him to face a small desk set right beside the front door. In the mirror above the desk was the reflection of no less than eight other high set mirrors.

"From here, the guard may see everything. The mirrors are angled in such a way as to allow him visual of every corner of the accessible lobby. Follow me, gentlemen. Let us proceed to the vault." Confidently he made his way through a short space into the heart of the bank.

The vault door looked to be no more than polished steel set into a recessed marble frame. Where was the dressing? Where was the elaborate décor? Hart would never go for this. By all appearances it was as though the man had lacked the staff to finish much fine detail work and had left it minimally decorated. Sure, the columns were wrapped in a stone garland. The edges of the balconies were scalloped. But so much of the marble had merely been polished! I had won already. But still … he had shamed me with tumblers.

He was prattling on about the history of some carving as I slid up the vault door. My fingers reached out just a hairs-breadth from the first dial of the combination lock.

His hand clamped over mine, pulling it back firmly. "I would not do that if I were you."

"What," I barked, "afraid I will guess the combination."

"On the contrary. Leary of you getting it incorrect."

Folding my arms across my chest, I replied smugly, "I bet it will break."

With a stiff arm he pressed me back from the door. "May I?" He reached out for Hart's cane. From the cane and the full length of his arm combined he turned the series of dials haphazardly. "Because of this … " The final one shifted.

Without warning, the floor directly in front of it dropped downward leaving a black void. A steel slab slammed down smoothly over the vault door leaving nowhere to stand in the narrow space. Anyone close enough to attempt to enter an inaccurate code would have been swallowed! Slowly, with the clicking of a winch, the floor was drawn back into place. Followed by the sound of a bolt driven home by a spring.

Hart bent down and rubbed the hidden door, looking for a seam that was entirely invisible. "Good heavens!"

Erik handed him back the cane smoothly. "Any deviation from immediately entering the proper code on any one of the dials and it triggers. In the morning, when your staff arrives, the intruder will be waiting for them in the steel lined chamber below the vault."

"How deep is it?"

He stepped onto the trapdoor and mused, "About four meters. Enough that a man is likely to survive it, albeit, not happily. They shall await their arrest on the morrow."

"Ludicrous!" I declared. "We are men of culture. Such devices are entirely barbaric!"

"Ingenious!" Approaching the steel plate over the door, Hart shook his head. "Impossible to gain access."

"Therefore any hope of further theft would be deterred. The point of a bank is to keep safe what is inside, is it not gentlemen?"

"Not at the injury of others." I protested.

Erik straightened, glancing at me. "My apologies. I seem to have missed the entire point of this institution. It appears, by your example, I should have constructed some manner of device that invites intruders and offers the contents of the vault rather cordially."

Inclining my chin, I replied smugly, "You are out of your league, my dear boy. You never should have dared this endeavor in the first place. Society's fine points are beyond your grasp."

"Pardon me, Monsieur Erik." Hart waved to him still examining the door. "But surely this can be reset."

"Ah yes." Erik held up a hand. Walking over to a wall, he opened a hidden door in the stonework. "But a moment."

He was gone behind the closed door briefly, before it reopened, the plate pulling up with a grind of counterweights. Re-emerging from the hidden room, he walked up to the combination lock and deftly entered the code. "I will show you, and only you, how to operate it. The code can be altered at your whim. But I suggest you make certain those who enter it have a steady hand."

The latch drew back with a thud. The door opened with a gentle push to reveal a large vault full of lock boxes. Hart's eyes narrowed at the plain sight. He entered, took a complete lap of the room, then rapped his cane on the floor.

"Gentlemen, I have seen both buildings."

I grinned, he had not even climbed up to the top floors of this one! Oh, I know what this meant.

Hart held his hand out, beckoning. I took a step forward, my hand reaching into the pocket for the deed. "The deed to yours, if you will, Erik."

My hand fell to my side. My heart pounded in my head so loud I only saw the applause. Was Hart blind? Did I not stress the gorgeous details of all the friezes throughout. Not a single stone was left without a carving! The man had no taste to go with this … this … plain little outhouse of a building.

Reed! I spied the broad grin on that little ferret's face as his pet waltzed forward and unrolled the deed. Unbelievable. What was the world coming to that it honored this level of ineptitude.

Searching the crowd, I found Shaw, his face a sickly green, leaning over and heaving in breaths. I seized him by the collar. "How could this have happened? How!"

"I tried … " He swayed in my grasp, holding his hands up in defense. "I tried to warn you. The man is a genius!"

"No! That is not the problem." I threw him against the wall. "I entrusted an idiot! You're done. Absolutely finished!" I tore the diamond ring from his hand and thrust it into my pocket. "Never will you build in my city again. Never, you hear me?"

Turning, I found Erik gesturing Hart into the hidden room. The door silently slid shut behind them. Curse that fool. Did he think amusing little toys will save him?

Across the room, Reed locked eyes with me, a smile on his face as he gave a slight bow in my direction. I spun on my heel, thrusting my nose toward the heavens. With my eyes half, shut I sauntered out leaving the riotous discussion behind me.

Foreign trash! What was the world coming to?


	35. Chapter 35

_**Chapter 35**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"How red was his face?" Davidson's fingers gripped his pint glass, the knuckles blazing white. Gathered in the tavern around him the rest of my build crew plus Gallo and Nadir leaned forward in the lantern's limited light. "Come on, you can't leave it there, Master Erik!"

Seated on the stool my back resting against the corner, I pretended to brush off some debris from the gray wool vest I wore over my thick wool Henley. Soon, soon I could invest in the attire I longed for. But for now, Reed's gift remained reserved for those important moments when I had need to impress. Here, in this tavern, toasting the victory with my crew was not that time. These men had sweat and bled beside me. A suit would have been a barrier.

The demands for details grew more insistent.

I held my hand up. Their was immediate silence.

"Have you ever seen the inside of a ripe tomato?" They nodded. "VanHollus's cheeks were as bright and plump as any I have ever seen. Eyes as angry as a tiger who lost his rabbit of a meal to the talons of the eagle he never saw. Huffing and puffing in great lungfuls of air at nearly the cost of the buttons on his vest. I pity the vest for the strain it undertook. The poor man needs a tailor better suited to dressing an aristo-crass of his leisure."

O'Hennesey rolled his eyes, placing his hand on his chest. "What I wouldn't've given to have been there. To have seen how angry his untouchableness was when Hart called for your deed. You earned the honor to witness his foundations being shaken to the core. That was all your brilliant design."

"I did not build it alone, Gentlemen." Lifting the glass of whiskey, I nodded. "A good part of this victory goes to the ambitions of this crew." Albrecht and O'Hennesey cast prideful glances at their respective men.

"A pox on VanHollus and his ilk!"

"Someone should shoot that turkey and stuff his carcass."

"Gentlemen." I interjected with mock solemnity. "Take care, for we owe that man a debt of gratitude."

They stared blankly at me as I took a long sip from the glass, savoring the strong vintage. I eyed my glass for a moment before lifting it high with a smile. "I propose a toast to VanHollus."

The men darted confused glances at one another. In a gradual tide they half-heartedly lifted their pints.

"Truly we owe this man tribute. For we began this venture with a goal in mind, to prove to VanHollus that he does not have the power to control this island, nor the men whose livelihoods were threatened to be buried on the whim of his judgment against their bosses." The whole lot of their faces soured. "Men like me eager to utilize hard won skills. When VanHollus chose me as the target of his game, he failed to realize the consequences of his imminent failure. In his arrogant haste, he opened up an unprecedented opportunity for us all, which you men were wise enough to seize. Not only has VanHollus's cocksure demeanor resulted in his failure to claim a contract, it has done so in the most public way possible with a childish display that, thanks to Gallo's keen ears, we are privy to. Your salute, my vital friend, is forthcoming! I digress … throughout this year all VanHollus has achieved is revealing the kind of man he truly is. His company will suffer from it. For, a man's worth is deemed by his character. VanHollus may display the finery of a peacock, but that is the most destructive cuckoo I have seen in all my travels. And so, say I to VanHollus, thank you for such a fine public display to bring the attention of the social elite our way. For even before departing from Hart's bank I had no less than three men approaching me for contracts for the next building season."

Their eyes widened, hungry and full of hope. They thrust their glasses into the air. "Three cheers for VanHollus!" And we all drank deeply.

"Let me tell you something else that men like VanHollus do not understand, men who sit idle pulling the strings of the world without a thought of the consequences. Empires are built by the men who bleed for them. The only way to ensure a dream withstands the torrents of time is to lay the foundation in hard work and skills. Anything less and the accomplishment is not worth recognition. We stand on the cusp of my ambition, that Shadowcrest Industries becomes synonymous with quality."

A few of the men looked at each other and murmured, "Synon … "

Albrecht replied, "It means to define it. Master Erik wants us to be the best in this city."

"We are the best." I placed my bare hand, still raw from the blisters that were not permitted to fully heal all through the summer, on Albrecht's shoulder. "And we shall prove it! This is not something I can do alone. My dream is too vast for that. But if every man here, and the ones who join our ranks over the winter, share the same ambition, than men like VanHollus can insult us from dawn and dusk … no one else will be listening. They will be dazzled by our works! **That** is what I mean to achieve."

In a deafening cheer, they rose to their feet, applauding and clinking their glasses. Reaching into my pocket, I waved Gallo to me and in the commotion placed a small sack of coins into his hands.

"I owe you so much more than that. For truly, without your keen whispers it would have been far more troubling staying ahead of VanHollus. You are an intricate part of this victory and I would be remiss in not saying so."

He tugged on his neck scarf with a grin. "Hearing how you waltzed into his vault to prove it wasn't secure was reward beyond price. You hit that bleeder where it counts the most and though he's likely to try, I don't think he'll be getting back up again. It was an honor, Sir. A real honor and I look forward to the coming years."

I inclined my head. "You intend to remain an informant of mine?"

"Heh, keep telling me stories the likes of that and it'll be my pleasure! That's something in short supply, pleasure. Take it where I can get, thank you very much."

I raised my glass, "Indeed. Then, a toast to you, my invisible friend."

He chuckled, lifting his pint glass. "I'll bleed those entitled pricks any way I can. If a bleeder so much as takes a shit you will hear of it."

"Colourful." I took a sip of the whiskey. Loyalty. With that alone, a man can build and destroy empires. Next summer this city would learn.

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Days had passed since Erik's victory celebration with his crew. For some foolish reason I had assumed he would rest. Yet, I discovered the apartment was empty nearly as often as before, Erik only present late at night, vanishing once more in the mornings before I rose. It was true, he had contracts to secure, but none of those would begin until the spring. I considered that at least one of his tasks would have been repaying Reed for his generous investment from the funds he had received from Hart. Though I had not been privy to the amount, Erik assured me it had been a wise investment. His mens' previous concerns for working without pay were quite unfounded! Though he had been using Reed's investment to pay their weekly labor, they too would be receiving something from Hart's payment.

I was halfway up the last flight of stairs when an hysterical ruckus hastened me. It was coming from our apartment.

"Erik!" I fell into the doorway, the hinges practically rusted remnants with only a memory of being metal. Immediately I was greeted by the sight of Erik doubled over on the floor. He was shaking … trembling. The sound between his gasps were impossible to place. I bent down, my hand wrapping his upper arm. "What's wrong?" Had he been trying to quit his opium? Had someone hurt him? There was no sign of a struggle. I narrowed my eyes, listening to the strangest sound I had ever heard.

Erik was … laughing.

On his hands and knees, the man was consumed with mirth to the point of tears streaming through the eye holes of his mask. Gasping for air, he clung to me, holding up a hand to show he was trying to collect himself and clearly failing.

"Good heavens, what has taken hold of you?"

But I was forced to wait several minutes as Erik's hysterical laughing fit refused to be mastered. At last he brought himself to his knees, holding on to my arms as he faced me gulping in air. "Nadir, Nadir, Nadir! Once in a great long while the stars align!"

He was shaking he was so excited. "Yes … well, I should love to know what it is the stars have done. For your reaction, it must be something."

Patting one of my shoulders he collected his breath again. "Oh it is, it is, my loyal friend. My trusted friend!" Erik was positively … giddy! "Reed has been repaid."

"Yes, well, of course he has been."

"The men have all been paid in full, with a little extra to keep them loyal through the winter."

"Of course, and I am sure they appreciated that." None of that was cause enough for this euphoric condition, certainly not in Erik!

"New carts have been ordered, along with wood to construct more cranes." Words flowed faster by the moment.

"Yes, Erik. Your business is growing, like you said that it would." Beneath my hand I felt the racing cadence of this heartbeat carried away on a maddening pace. "What is it, Erik?"

Grasping my arms so tightly it threatened to snap my bones, he stared me right in the eyes. "There was enough left over. I commissioned the casements."

The casements? I cocked my head, the English word unusual to my ear. Then I remembered, it was a certain type of window.

A window? For Allah's sake since when was something as simple as glass and wood worthy of such an unabashed breakdown.

When I continued to stare blankly, he shook me til my teeth rattled. "Do you not know what this means?"

I shook my head.

Erik released me and flung his hands up into the air. "In two days time we are leaving the Bowery. Forever!"

I forgot to breathe. Falling forward onto my hands, I gasped for air before I too dissolved into joyous laughter.

Climbing to his feet, he held his arms high as he strolled through the wretched little living space. "Say goodbye to this reeking tenement of crumbled hopes and dreams. Leave behind this dismal waste of a building unfit for even a rat to dwell in! Nadir … in two days time we will be free, living on land I own in fresh air, far from the prying eyes of society. Privacy!"

I thrust my hand toward the door and gasped out, "No more endless flights of narrow stairs! Hahah!"

Leaning out the window, Erik hung his fingers on the wood frame. "I will not miss this. Not for how hard I have worked for this goal!"

Even in my own euphoria, I could not fail to see the half-healed condition of his hands. The price he had paid to ensure victory. To unshackle himself from the stigma of _Bowery immigrant_ … I looked at my own hands merely coated in soot.

Two days … may they past swiftly.


	36. Chapter 36

_**Chapter 36**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

The leather binding of each well thumbed book felt like a reunion as I freed my library from the shipping crates. Too long I had been deprived of these wondrous stories, unwilling to risk damage in the tenement … fine works of literature, volumes of extraordinary scientific discoveries. These were treasures beyond value. I could not help but page through a few of them as I laid eyes on their covers for the first time in two years.

Two years? Had it really been two years since we had crossed the ocean in secrecy? Close enough to be counted as such. My plan to distinguish myself had certainly taken more time than I had anticipated. Flexing my stiff fingers, I sighed … certainly more trouble.

Placing my collection of Greek mythology on the shelf, I was reaching in for the next one when the thundering of feet across the second story of the house came crashing in through my bed chamber door. I turned to find Nadir babbling like a child.

"Erik! Erik!" He pointed over his shoulder, little hops accompanying his words. "A bed. My room, my own room, it has it's own bed!"

Blandly, I resumed the task of shelving my library. "Did you expect to sleep on the floor?"

Beaming, he ran over to mine and caressed the simple polished wood frame. "You have one too!"

"Why yes." I remarked, trying not to laugh at his excitement. "I was going to just get one, but figured you had quite enough of being stabbed in the middle of the night."

"So sturdy, well built!"

"The carpenter I purchased them from had them sitting in his workshop. They both seemed to be ideal for this house. I could have requested something custom made, but I confess, I was in a hurry to move in before the snow fall."

Nadir danced across the floor and grabbed the front of my sweater. "So many less stairs! And wider too! The air is clean and fresh, devoid of the foul odor of human waste. Oh Allah, I can breathe again."

I pried his fingers off before his excited tugging could rend a seam. This was one of the few garments I had at the moment that didn't look like a rag-picker's special. "Go breathe in your room."

Running his hands against the wall, he drifted back out into the hall and towards his room. I sighed in relief. Alone. Once more I had a space to call entirely my own. I doubted that Nadir even fathomed how much self control I had been exercising these past two years sharing our living space. Solitude was almost as powerful an addiction as my opium.

I glanced over my shoulder to the cabinet that held the critical little box. Beside it my beloved Stradivarius in her case. When my hands healed, I owed her a private little session. Now that I had this upper bed chamber with space for all the belongings I had brought overseas I could begin to live again! Not to merely exist … but to live!

A plain desk in the corner waited for me to unpack the finer tools I used when making machines, automatons, and music boxes. Perhaps an activity for the winter months. The hearth would provide both warmth and light, a place to read by. Yes, this room would be my refuge. Behind the oak door, my solitary dwelling where even Nadir would find he was not permitted.

A commotion drew me to the window. I peered out to find a carriage coming to a halt before the front door. A moment later, a gentleman stepped out, taking in the quarry house.

Reed?

Darting down the staircase, I opened the front door to find him caressing the dressed stone. I had little time to do any intricate carving, but fully intended for a few areas to receive more attention. Much of the two story house was rough field stone in appearance, the limestone from my quarry provided a beautiful variance. Tall casement lined windows with shutters were framed with flat dressed stones, awaiting a bit of leisure time.

He glanced up at me, his eyebrows raised. "Good heavens! You built this at the same time as my conservatory and that bank? How Erik?"

We shook hands while I laughed, "That is my little secret. But yes, I cut every stone that comprises this building and set them. Hardly a masterpiece, at least it can be counted as more presentable than … well, this gives me a place to discuss contracts respectably with clients."

"It's simplicity is elegant." He glanced out across the field to the rise of the workmen's houses. The hamlet bustled with activity as the men worked from the area of the quarry reserved for their own use. The homes they built were simple but sturdy, single storied buildings. Women and children who had come up from the city slums tended to a variety of tasks, including tending to the fields that were now awaiting harvest. Baskets of fruit carted from the orchard made their way to the pole barn.

Reed inhaled the sweet air and smiled. "Truly, it is beautiful. Was this village here?"

I shook my head. "That was part of their contracts. The workers wished to leave the tenements are dearly as I. Simple enough to provide for them. After all, what does every man want but a place to call his own. Please, do come in."

Entering the house he removed his hat as I led him through what would be my parlor beside my drafting office. At this moment it was no more than a room with some packed crates in it.

"Forgive me, I did not anticipate visitors yet."

He reached up and touched the gas lamp set into the wall. "You set in gas lines?"

I nodded. "Of course. There is also a simple pump providing water to the house drawn from the well. I only had the time to set it in the kitchen, but considering."

"Remarkable. Most houses in this kind of setting would not have such luxuries."

I waved a dismissive hand. "If a client enters here he should see such a thing and note the attention. Over the winter, I hope to add a few details to the stone. The utmost importance was finishing the house structurally before winter. The first story holds my office and the parlor with a kitchen and a small dining area. The second story is where the two bed chambers are located along with the essential room to attend to ones more personal needs. Out the back window there is a winch for drawing up heated water from the kitchen."

We drifted through the house and his eyes devoured the stonework, rough though it was. Briefly, I vanished from his side, returning with a small cask of Burgundy wine. Tapping it I poured us each a glass.

"What? You thought I would not have a wine cellar?" I handed him the glass. "This is something I have missed dearly … among other things."

We both took a long drink, his eyebrows rising at the end. "This wine, it's excellent!"

"I know my vintages." I swirled the rich wine, resting my hand in the window frame to gaze at the quarry. "I also know an extraordinary tailor when I see his work. Reed, I must request the name of the gentlemen who made that suit you gifted me. I shall be in need of more of his work."

Joining me at the window he nodded. "I will be happy to introduce the two of you. I had hoped that our business relationship would continue. You are a most … extraordinary fellow."

I was relieved at this choice of words. "I do not forget things easily, my friend. I look forward to a profitable year no small thanks to you. What has begun is left up to me to finish."

He glanced at the scabs on my hand holding the wine glass. "You should enjoy a restful winter. A nice quiet one."

Beneath the mask, I felt a little shameful heat rise. "Ahh, well, not to worry. Next year my skin shall be thicker for the tasks I have undergone."

"I have no doubt." He took a long sip of the wine. "Erik, this place has a lot of atmosphere. I know I had mentioned that you needed a place more suited for meeting with clients … however, this is a long way from the city. I think you shall find that most of them won't want to be inconvenienced."

Keeping my eyes on the quarry, I tried not to flinch at the one remark I dreaded to hear. This was a vast improvement over the crippling Bowery … but he was right. The stuffy clients I was after would feel troubled to have to leave the densely packed avenues of the city.

"One step at a time, my good man." I lifted my glass and took a swallow as I watched O'Hennesey and Grimaudo leading a cart with a stone toward the foundation of a house. I assumed it was Grimaudo's in progress.

Land in the city was at a premium, in any place worth the building. But if I secured my contracts right, perhaps there was a remedy to this before the next year was finished.


	37. Chapter 37

_**Chapter 37**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I woke to a crisp November morning. The mild weather had permitted me to travel in and out of the city with ease on Jacques's horses. I was glad that this morning I had no call for such a journey. There were no clients to meet with and my tailor would send word to me once my suits were completed.

There was a slight chill in the air so I selected the best of my wool sweaters before wandering downstairs. Even though I had until spring to finish the designs, I was determined to set them to paper for the approval of my clients. Why wait? If we had anything like last year's snowfall, trips to the city would soon be quite limited.

On my way to the office, I halted to the sounds of a great commotion behind the kitchen door. There had been a deer in the field the other day. It was unusual but perhaps the scent of the apples stored in my larder had attracted him. Cautiously, I pressed my hand against the door, cracking it open to leave a barrier between me and the intruder. I was wrong … that was no pilfering deer.

Behind me Nadir came to a halt. I heard his breathing pause as I opened the door a little wider to the torrent of activity.

"Nadir … " I could not even move as my eyes stared in disbelief. "Why is there a plethora of women in my kitchen?"

"I … I haven't a clue," he stammered.

The entire kitchen was occupied by the activity of dozens of women accompanied by a few children assisting them. Hands kneaded bread dough, dividing it into loaves to rise by the heat of the cooking hearth. Pots and kettles boiled, constantly stirred by vigilant women who mopped their sweaty brows. Crusts for pastries were rolled out and dropped into pans with the most astonishing skill. This was not baking, this was art … but what were they doing in here?

Pressing past me, a young girl in a gingham dress carried a bowl of freshly churned butter. "Pardon me, Sir."

I gently clasped her shoulder, "What is going on?"

Her ginger braided hair flopped to the side as she cocked her head. "Why, don't you know? Tis Thankgivin'."

Nadir shook his head when I offered him a searching glance.

"What is this … Thanksgiving?"

A smile brightened her flour covered face. "Only the best day of the year, Sir. Specially this year. A day of great feasting, a celebration of what we have to be grateful for. And this year we have much to celebrate!" I couldn't get a word in because after a breath she continued in a tense whisper. "This year we have a real roof of our own thanks to a very nice man who gave my da a lot of work. That's who the feast is for. The Master."

My numb hand slid from her shoulder as the little girl skipped into the kitchen to deliver the bowl. I had been watching the families from the window of my bed chamber, but … aside from the workmen, these people didn't know me. Yet, here they were toiling in my kitchen making a feast fit for … fit for … a royal court!

Leaning out the window, one of the women bellowed with a voice that could split stone, "O'Hennesey! When the hell are you gonna finish with those turkeys?"

"Christ, woman!" He shouted back. "I'm a mason, not a butcher!"

She fixed him with a glare that would stop a charging bull. "Sass me again and I'll come out there and show you your gizzard. You lot oughta contribute something to this feast. Least you can do is clean the damn birds for the spits. If they aren't in here soon we'll be serving Master Erik raw meat. What kind of a tribute is that?"

Abandoning the window, Mrs. O'Hennesey instructed a few of the women before picking up a basket of apples and a paring knife. She glanced up at the door and seeing me, blanched. Hustling across the room she shooed me like a pigeon. Forcing an apple in my hand she declared, "Out you go. We're hardly ready for you yet."

I couldn't get a word in edgewise as she shut the door on both Nadir and myself. He stared blankly listening to the cacophony continue.

With a shrug, I flipped the apple into the air and caught it deftly. "I shall be drafting until what appears to be dinner."

The rays of bright sunlight traced their path along the office wall as I lost myself in the blur of ink lines. Relaxed and at complete ease, I was only barely aware of the commotion until Nadir knocked on the door. I looked up to a spill of color in the sky from the setting sun. The pole barn's door stood open, lantern light beckoning.

"They're waiting for us." He glanced over his shoulder.

Seating the quill in its holder, I capped the ink. Beside the door a lantern waited, always at the ready. I brought it with us knowing how Nadir hated trying to navigate by starlight alone. The evening was cool with a soft breeze carrying the aroma from the barn … the savory feast awaking a hunger.

The entire hamlet had gathered in the pole barn. Tables comprised of long planks ran the length of the space where by now no families lived. Each family within their own house. Men with their wives gathered with scores of children, all ages from infants to those on the cusp of adulthood. I had seen many of the older ones tending the crops. In a sea of many nationalities, their clothing was simple compared to the elegant attire of the last party I had attended. But the smiles they wore, the smiles were earnest as they gathered, chatting around the tables. Tables so heavily laden with food that they sagged in the middle.

The barn fell silent when they realized I had arrived. O'Hennesey, dressed in a simple wool vest over a clean Henley, gestured us to a place at the head of one of the tables. Wordlessly, Nadir and I took our places. With everyone else seated, O'Hennesey held up his hands. All attention focused on him.

"On this blessed evening we gather together for a feast which … Christ, I've not the gift for words. Let me just say it plain like. Last year there wasn't a dream in any lad's head that coulda matched this." Reverently, no one spoke as he fingered the button on his vest. "Last year, gathered in this very barn, the lot of us wondered what we had done. There wasn't much up here, just a promise. A promise that, in the turn of a leaf on an autumn breeze could surely change. Lads, we all knew from our lives in the Bowery, in Hell's Kitchen, around Fiver Corners that the starched shirts did not have the time of day for our lot! Not a one of them truly noted our existence as anything more than a plague upon their city. And so we lived and died, crammed in tiny tenements, breathing in the stench of the city, dusted in soot from the passing trains, sickened by the miasma."

I glanced at them gathered at the table. Clean and tidy, no one was smeared with the grime of the gutters. They sat with their heads held high, hands folded, listening raptly.

"Last year, at the time when VanHollus's ploy ruined work for my crew, I had been dealt with a crushing blow. My daughter had grown ill. I feared it was consumption." He rested his hand on the ginger-headed little girl I had seen earlier. She smiled up at him, cheeks blushing. "Here we are up in this clean air and she breathes! Away from the filth of the city, my little angel thrives! I know I am not the only one!"

Heads nodded around the room, some children held up.

O'Hennesey continued, "Last year we all wondered if this promise was too good to be true. If this dream of being treated like human beings was going to endure. In the spring when work began, we all watched as we toiled shoulder to shoulder, still doubting that we had found a chance at the American dream we all journeyed here for. Even in the summer, beneath the blistering sun there was a question none of us dared to voice. Were we laboring for nothing? Just another man who would suffer the wrath of VanHollus?"

He paused, casting his eyes around at the entire population.

"Well, Gentlemen … " A quiet chuckle carried through the men. "Here we sit with our proof." He lifted his glass and in a wave all of the glasses were raised. "A toast to Master Erik, the man who kept his word and buried VanHollus in that bank vault! An honor to work with you. May there be many more years."

Astonished, I could only sit there and stare as everyone rose their feet with a mighty roar … a roar of respect and honor. These people were not crying out and calling me a manipulative monster. They were not trying to beat me and remove my mask. In that heartfelt speech, I realized O'Hennesey had spoken for all of them. It had been my intention to distinguish myself in society. He spoke as though I had intended to lift them … and it shamed me. That had been such an insignificant detail in my plan, yet to these men it had been everything. My plans had changed their lives as much, if not more than they had mine.

There was nothing I could say as I took an embarrassed sip of the fresh apple cider. Immediately following the toast everyone fell into devouring the feast. Potatoes mashed with butter. Turkeys roasted on the spit over open flames. Apple and pumpkin pastries sticky with glaze alongside puddings and soups from sweet to savory. The feasting lasted for hours. Chatter was a constant accompaniment with children dashing about the edges playing chase.

Family.

In the guise of savoring the cider in my hand, I concealed the ache in my heart. All these years I had been alive wandering this earth and never had I experienced what it was to truly have a family. To be part of a real family. They gathered as mother, father, sister, brother; singing and laughing in the lantern light. Italian, Irish, Spanish … none of that differed for the body language they displayed as they reveled in what it was to be alive.

With a sigh I leaned back, just listening to their joy. I had done this … without even intending to I had united these men and their families around this once insignificant quarry. Here they found their haven from the horrors of society, from the judgment of other men. Here they found their pride. And the thanks they gave … they gave to me.


	38. Chapter 38

_**Chapter 38**_

 _ **~O'Hennesey~**_

I brought the axe over my head with an easy arc. The log split apart. The light of the full moon made the freshly fallen snow glisten. I glanced at the lantern my wife had demanded I bring as she insisted I would not be back before nightfall. Well, she was right. Night had undoubtedly fallen and I was only just finishing with the last sled load of firewood. There was no need to waste good oil with such a beautiful sky overhead.

Tossing my axe onto the sled's chopped wood, I grasped the lead rope and started to haul it along the path. It was a nice evening, crisp but not bitterly cold. A man could breathe and not feel his lungs freeze. The stars above were pinpoints of light, drawing pictures in the darkness.

Shuffling through the snow, I heard a melody drifting on the wind. An enchanting violin that beckoned me. A melancholy infected the tune, bittersweet and pure. Music beyond all description to a simple man such as I.

Drawn to the heartsick melody, I wandered beneath the open window of the Master's bedchamber. Framed in the hearth's light, I saw his silhouette bowed over a violin.

My breath refused to come. I had heard this before! Not the piece, but the mannerisms that played it. I had glimpsed this figure before in another place from afar.

The Bowery Nightingale!

Beneath the window, I gazed up in awe, in the presence of a legend. Master Erik … he was indeed that gifted violinist who graced the streets of the Bowery only to fly away.

Tears welled in my eyes, torn from the depths of my soul with each sorrowful note. He wept, in music his violin wept … the same tears I had sobbed the night my wife and I lost our son to illness. The memories returned to me vividly. The weight of his body in my arms, the cooling of his flesh, the stiffening of his tiny fingers. My wife, how she had reached forward and tried to smooth out the cowlick on the side of his head.

I sobbed into my hands, finding myself on my knees in the snow. Surrounded by an oppressive silence.

A hand pressed against my shoulder. Smearing the tears from my eyes, I blinked up to find Master Erik, that stoic gaze from behind the mask studying me. He said nothing, merely offered me a hand to my feet.

"You … " I stammered, "you're the Bowery Nightingale."

Stiffly he released my hand, his eyes shutting briefly as he turned away from me. "You know not what you have heard."

"But I do! I remember." Groveling around his feet I reached up and nearly grasped the edge of his cloak. "That bespelling music."

He whipped the cloak from my grasp and grimaced. "I shall have to take greater care in keeping my window shut."

"But, Master, you are the Bowe … "

His glare silenced me. He held a finger before the mask, a single finger that dared me to utter a word. Acid dripped from his voice as he whispered, "That bird has flown and will never return! Do you hear me?"

I nodded as swiftly as I could.

He shut his eyes. When they reopened once more they were stoic. "Best get that wood back to your home. There is a chill in the air. I bid you good evening, O'Hennesey."

Turning on his heel, the cloak enveloped him as he stalked back inside his home, shutting the door behind him.

I shivered. What had happened for him to shun that identity? A virtuoso on the violin who danced with all the passion of life I had ever known … what I wouldn't give to hear him play again.

The casement closed, the latch slid into place … his shadow withdrew.

There would be no more tonight.

 _ **~Erik~**_

On the lonely winter nights, I learned to guard my secrets more keenly. O'Hennesey had kept his mouth shut over the last weeks as I waited in silence to see the evidence of his loyalty. Not a single tongue wagged of my secret as the New Year turned onward. No one came pounding on my door begging me to play. When the music called to me too insistently to be ignored, I simply ensured the casements were closed before I released her beauty to my ears alone. If no one else heard me, no one else would suspect who I had been.

Caressing her beautiful wood, I let the oil from my fingers rub into her aged finished. She was not young, but oh, how the years had given to her such a refined character. The depth of her stain, the gentle variation where my fingers repeatedly caressed her. Gently, I laid her in her case, closing the lid.

"Rest my fine companion. Have no fear, on these frigid nights there is little to do but remember those better days."

I bent to turn down the gas lamp. Outside in the pristine snowfall, the moonlight betrayed a recent passage. My eyes followed the path, a horse's hoof-prints coming from the south heading … into the quarry? They had not been there when I had taken my Stradivarius out to play. None of the crewmen would have come from that direction. They were to the west in their little hamlet.

Throwing my thick cloak over my shoulders, I checked to make certain I had my knife. Foolish. I always had it, but still. I had no idea the intentions of my intruder.

As soundlessly as possible, I cut through the snow, keeping to the trees in a parallel line to the hoof-prints. They led to the quarry. The chink of a chisel drew me to a shaded corner, beneath a stony overhang. A man, bundled tightly, remained engrossed in the task of freeing stone chips from the wall and tucking them into his bag. The horse kicked at the snow, largely ignoring me as I crept up on his rider.

My left hand gripped the handle of my knife in case, while I carefully aligned my right elbow to the base of his skull and drew it back. The moment bone contacted bone I heard only a muted shriek before his face impacted the side of my quarry. Rendered unconscious, he slumped against the wall.

Nearby, a crane dangled a bit of rope, stiff from the cold. It served my purpose and in a matter of moments I secured the trespasser beyond hope of escape.

Flopping him over the horse's saddle I led them both into the barn. The horse was a sturdy Morgan gelding who eagerly trotted over to the hay and began to chew the moment I relieved him of his rider. Tethering the man to the wall on a short length of chain, I left him laying on the floor. The horse continued his feast while I removed the saddle and bridle.

"Rode you hard from the city, did he? You are covered in sweat." Patting the animal's hide, I glanced at his rider and sighed. "I may have struck him a little too hard. Looks like you and I have some time to get acquainted."

The horse nuzzled me and nickered softly.

Had I only known then how right I had been. Jacques entered into the pole barn in the pre-dawn hours. Immediately he halted at my unusual presence and the task I had for him. Without question he fetched O'Hennesey. By the time the sun reached pale fingers into the sky, the majority of the workmen had gathered in the barn, a circle pressed shoulder to shoulder around the bound trespasser.

He moaned, lifting his unfocused gaze up to give a slow start. An expression that grew ever more alarmed when he realized struggling would get him exactly nowhere.

With my hands behind my back, I glanced at him sideways. "What have you to say for yourself, Thief?"

"I am no thief!" He spat back.

Oh, so I had not yet knocked the spirit from this one. "Really?" Dropping his bag, all eyes focused on the stone chips that spilled across the floor. His alarm was the briefest flicker. "So, you mean to tell me then that this stone you were recklessly removing from _my_ quarry, like some inane woodpecker, was fairly gained? Tell me, for I should truly like to comprehend the path of your reasoning."

He glared up at my men, hostility in his eyes. "I wasn't stealing a thing! I was working."

"On who's orders?"

"On … uhh … my employer's orders."

"A name would be nice."

Shifting to his knees, he leaned against the bonds. "My name's Benjamin Marcus. I am no thief, I am an artist. The finest the world has ever seen. You know nothing of working stone. Nothing compared to me. Once the world sees my work nothing less will satisfy. I am the greatest that ever lived!"

Quite a speech from one barely considered old enough to be man. "Well, while I am grateful for the privilege of the name to carve on your gravestone, I was truly only interested in the name of the man who seduced you with that utter nonsense you just spewed."

At the word 'gravestone' his face lost a bit of color. My own men took a step forward, whispers of recognition carrying through the barn. Apparently, this was not the first time his face had been seen.

"I am too careful of a man to betray my employer!"

"VanHollus." I pulled a stone chip that had been left for me outside a client's house at one of my meetings. "You are not anything special to him. Not worth protecting, not worth remembering, and not worth saving. To be honest, I simply can not tolerate such a petty theft. Regretfully, as I can hardly bring your master directly to bear the price of this crime, you, as his message boy, shall have to oblige me."

Marcus stiffened, he glared at each of the men in the circle who pounded their hands together in anticipation.

Slowly, I produced the hidden knife, offering him a brief smile. "Tell me, do you know what the price of theft was in the Dark Ages?"

He shook his head, his brow wrinkling. "We don't live in the Dark Ages any more. Why the hell should I know?"

The blade flashed in the dawning light. The men surrounding me all pressed closer, leaning in tight with wild grins on their faces. They chanted out his crime like a mantra, counting down his fate. This man had stolen stone chips from this quarry repeatedly, and thus stolen from me. That stone had been placed by the doors of potential clients whom VanHollus had taken … also stealing from me, and from my men. For other masons and architects had also been gifted with a similar calling card.

And behind it all, this little thief that VanHollus had brainwashed into thinking he was above reproach.

Fate and karma collided in a brilliant cosmic alignment as I stood with the blade shining red in the rays of the sun.

"History is so utterly important, for it is often repeated by the ignorant." I dropped the tip of the knife behind his back and let it press against his wrist. "And you are the most ill-informed scoundrel I have ever had the pleasure to meet."

No one objected as I made short the work. The two slices freed his sobbing form from the bonds. Davidson and O'Hennesey hauled him to his feet and dragged him outside the barn. We gathered in the door watching the poor fool staggering off, blood dripping from the stumps of his wrists. His frantic cries carried out over the countryside as he stumbled aimlessly.

"Master Erik, if he means to make it to the city he won't make it that way. Just a lotta woods and outcroppings that way."

I crossed my arms over my chest and inclined my head. "He will hardly make it out of those woods again. Not with wounds like that. Thus perishes Benjamin Marcus, the arrogant fool. His actions knowingly created hardships for countless men. My only hope is that he was the only one carrying out this dreadful task."

"Poor bastard." There was no pity in Davidson's voice.

"Get rid of those." I gestured to the severed hands. Outside clouds were rolling in across the horizon, heavy with the promise of snow that would soon bury the wake of blood. I could not risk riding into the city to inquire with Gallo today, not with the weather about to turn. But the moment it did I would have to, returning on the Morgan.

VanHollus was clearly not satisfied. A fact I would be a fool to ignore.


	39. Chapter 39

_**Chapter 39**_

 _ **~Reed~**_

Winter's hold on the city began to retreat. In celebration, and for the chance to form more business contracts, there had been a sudden surge in social gatherings. One ended only to seeming to flow to the next. This week alone I had thrown one and attended two others. Tonight's was especially nice held at the Hoffman House Hotel in their luxurious dining room.

Dinner had been particularly decadent, served in the finest French style. I could not help but cast a glance over to observe Erik relishing the cuisine he must have missed from his homeland. He had attended a few of the affairs over the winter. My tailor had done a marvelous job with the suits. The few I had glimpsed were of the most flattering cut for his … unusual stature. Erik seemed to favor the tone on tone brocades for his vests. Always in deep hues.

After dinner, I lost track of him in the crowd as several business associates of mine engaged me in a spirited conversation over their plans for the upcoming year. Everyone was in merry mood. At least that was how it appeared.

I enjoyed a nice glass of Riesling, chatting with Tottering about his new printing press when a voice rose out of the din.

"Why is everyone always talking about him?"

The crowd parted, eyes drawn to a robust figure as he raised his fist in the air. VanHollus. Good heavens, who invited him? Well, it wasn't my party. But still.

"Absolutely ridiculous how the lot of you go prattling on like it was some sort of spectacular feat!" He swung his finger about the room, jabbing it in the air at various men. "If I hear his name one more time I swear there will be hell to pay!"

His hand help up his half empty wine glass. A waiter dashed forward, practically tripping over his feet in the attempt to reach him. The effort was for not.

Red-faced, VanHollus flung the glass across the room.

People screamed and tripped to get out of its pathway. Many crouched, waiting for the inevitable shatter of it against the wall.

But it never reached the wall or the floor.

Erik's gloved hand reached up and plucked the glass from midair. With an apathetic glance, he appraised the now empty glass before setting it gently on a waiter's tray. The glass rattled the poor chap was trembling so. Had VanHollus known Erik was standing there? He couldn't possibly have, the crowd had been thick.

No one in the room said a word. No one moved. They just stared as Erik cast his gaze at a painting over his shoulder and remarked dryly, "VanHollus, you really should take more care with your wineglass. That is a masterpiece on the wall and it would hardly be improved by a reckless splattering of Bordeaux regardless of how fine a vintage it may be."

Seething, VanHollus pumped his hands into fists before forcing a tight-lipped smile on his face. "Erik. So … wonderful to see you here."

Behind that mask, it was impossible to be sure, but I thought I saw the hint of an eyebrow lift as he swirled his own wineglass. "A fond greeting to you as well." Somehow, he kept his voice level, adhering to the strict rules of etiquette.

Taking a few steps closer, VanHollus lifted his nose, flashing the shine of his rings rather like a peacock presenting his tail. "I trust that you have been made to feel comfortable here?"

Erik took a sip of his wine, keeping a wary gaze. "Why ever would I not be?"

"Oh. Well, I mean to say, a man with your means surrounded by the entitled."

He laughed. It was low, barely audible. But it was undoubtedly a laugh.

"What do you find so amusing?" VanHollus snapped.

Placing his hand to his heart, Erik bowed his head. "My apologies at that unfortunate rude gesture that escaped me. Pay it no heed."

"No." He advanced, closing the space between the two men, the closest they had been since the fateful day of the wager. If there had been any doubt that VanHollus harbored anger, it was abolished by his stance. The man hunched over like a bear about attack. "I want to know why you laughed! What did you find so funny?"

Standing straight, Erik looked him directly in the eyes. "Very well. It is the word _entitled_ , dear VanHollus. Take care in how you toss that around."

"Well, that would be amusing, coming from an orphan like you."

He cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. "An orphan? Indeed, how did you come to such a baseless conclusion?"

The smile on VanHollus's face took on a regal smugness. "Such a shame, to have been an orphan that no one bothered to take in. No surname to claim a lineage, not even a borrowed one."

Erik's forefinger tapped the stem of his wineglass. Keeping his voice level he replied. "I assure you, though I lay claim to no lineage, I am most assuredly no orphan."

Withdrawing in mock horror, VanHollus buried his face in his sleeve. "Good heavens, they were so much ashamed they disowned you!"

There was a brief grimace of contempt beneath the mask. In a moment it was banished. Lifting the wine glass, he gazed over the rim. "Nonsense. I disowned them."

Snapped out of his display, VanHollus straightened up, with his eyes wide. "Why?"

"I had my reasons, and have done very well on my own without the benefit of surname or title." Erik finished off his glass of wine and set it on the tray of a passing waiter with an elegant wave of his hand. "A name is but a name, nothing more, nothing less. Tis the merit of the man that measures his worth."

It was his turn to laugh. Snidely he remarked. "Of course, a common man would think that."

There was a flash of a grin beneath the rim of the mask … a knowing grin. Suddenly I was looking at a cat letting a mouse believe it had escaped. Erik cleared his throat, though there was no need—every ear in the room was raptly listening. "Please correct me if I have heard wrong, Jonkheer Cobus Bonifaas Guus VanHollus."

"Very good. You even pronounced the title properly."

"Ah yes, Jonkheer. Such an esteemed … eh, word."

VanHollus bristled. "Now see here … "

"What?" Erik eyed him, a spark of tension in his finger as he brought it up and pointed around the room. "They do not know, do they, that what you have presented as a Dutch title is nothing more than a honorific. That essentially all it amounts to is that you are related to someone in the past who was someone, noble or otherwise. Your precious title is little more than an ancient scribble on a page passed downward without being earned."

His jaw hung for a moment. Speechless, he stared dumbly as Erik reached into his vest pocket and retrieved a small leather bag.

"Reminds me. I have something you were after." He tossed the bag which VanHollus snatched from the air. Dumping out the contents into his hand he found a number of marble chips. "The samples your man was sent to collect."

"Samples?" He blinked up, narrowing his eyes.

"I believe your man's name was Markus. Ah yes, Benjamin Markus he said he was. I was a little surprised to find the man in my quarry helping himself to the stone. My dear VanHollus, you need but ask and I should be more than happy to supply you with the quality of my stone."

Curious. The color drained from VanHollus's face.

"Oh yes, how careless of me. I neglected to send a message back with him." Erik continued casually. "Thank you for the wonderful gift of that Morgan gelding. He is a mount perfectly adapted for the trips in and out of the city. I look forward to smoother passages this year thank to your generosity. It should increase my efficiency measurably."

VanHollus had given Erik a horse? When?

His color returned, blazing red!

Placing a hand to his chest, Erik offered half a bow. "I bid good evening to you. Please inform me if you are in need of more stone chips. Although I trust the need for those is quite over."

He swept past VanHollus, his vehement stare following as Erik drifted past me with his head held high. Polite conversation soon took over the gathering. No one bothered to speak with the mighty VanHollus. In less than a quarter of an hour he departed with a load of drama that was openly ignored. Lingering on the edge of the crowd, I spied Erik occasionally engaged in a conversation with someone.

Somehow, in the depths of midwinter, separated by the majority of the island, VanHollus had continued his grudge and attempted some sly plan against Erik. Now everyone in the gathering knew—and it was all they were talking about. Soon the entire city would know. How the unexpected gentleman stood before VanHollus, and without a raised voice—silenced him.

 _ **~Nadir~**_

The scent of opium drew me from my room. I had heard the horse's hooves spattering in the slush as he returned the mysterious Morgan gelding to the barn. Though I had already gone to bed, I had heard him enter the house, his usually silent passage plagued with heavy steps. For a moment I had held my breath and swore I heard him muttering before his door slammed.

Minutes later, when I dared to open my own door I saw his was ajar, his shadow pacing the wall.

Erik shouldn't have needed to smoke his pipe until tomorrow. What could have gone wrong? Before he had left, he had hardly been able to contain his anticipation at attending the dinner at the Hoffman House Hotel. Rumors of the lavish interior compelled him to wear his finest attire.

I peered into the room to see him savagely fling his mask across the room. His right hand held the pipe, while his left tore at his hair leaving it in mussy tendrils. In the gaslights his eyes pulsed with venom.

Clinging behind the threshold, I found my feet dreading a single step further. Duty forced me to enter, donning a confident smile I did not feel.

"I didn't hear you come in." I lied through my teeth.

"That vulgar piece of refuse from a misbegotten mule! How _dare_ he! Of all the manners in which he could have addressed me, all the topics he might have broached … " his last words were squeezed in his fist. Looking at his bare face I felt a wave of pain at his expression of such intense rage.

As calmly as possible, I waited a moment, so as not to interrupt him. He rammed the pipe between his lips and inhaled deeply, holding the smoke in his lungs for an uncomfortable count of time before exhaling. It did nothing to calm him

"Erik. Who was he and what happened?" The question begged to be asked.

His knuckles flashed white as he clenched the pipe and snarled. "VanHollus! The man is an incomparable ass!"

"There was little doubt of that before." I shrugged. "What did he do now?"

Erik stalked towards me, his hand clawing at the air. "My lack of a surname. The man had the gall to call me an orphan with everyone listening. He made such a tremendous affair of having a title and a family name and everything I lack! Argh!"

"How were his manners?"

That at least earned me a roll of his eyes. "Atrocious as ever. In fact, worse. It was only by my quick reflexes that I had been able to catch the wineglass he threw across the room in a tantrum that proceeded the fiasco. Nadir, the man is a spoiled child! It is terrible the way he treats others, even those he counts to be his equal on his abysmal scale. How he managed to survive to adulthood I can hardly fathom. He is the most conniving of nitwits I have suffered the pains of teaching a hard won lesson to. Renne is the only one who comes close to mind."

"Renne?" I puzzled through the name. "Was that the one from the traveling faire?"

He nodded curtly, "Indeed." Rubbing his temple, he sighed. "Both of them men of unreknowned breeding whose favored pastime was declaring themselves lord of all. Petty little children who burst into tears the moment the world refuses to spin in their favor. Fools, the only thing they are good at is making a lot of wind!"

Smoothing out my beard, I gave him a sideways glance, "Rather reminds me of a certain shah-in-shah with all his ridiculous little fetishes. News has been quiet from there as of late. Wonder how things are fairing over there."

Acidly Erik added, "Wonder if that little prick got his own head severed off and mounted in his garden to be viewed by his peacocks. I should have gone back and gotten justice for what he did to you."

"Erik, that would hardly give me back my honor or the years I spent in prison."

"No." He locked eyes with me before turning away to lean heavily against the window frame. "But it would make you feel better."

The smoke had penetrated his rage, blunting the edge. With it, Erik's tense form began to sag. The time it took for his eyelids to close and reopen lengthened. In silence I watched him until he sank down into a chair before his hearth, eyes staring unfocused at the glowing embers. The world was safe from his wrath for tonight thanks to the balm of opium.

Shutting his door, I left him to his thoughts. I did not envy VanHollus, for even as I would hold Erik to his promise, I knew any harm that befell the man would not break it. I could never have forbade Erik from defending himself from the inevitable slings and arrows of the world. He had given VanHollus more than ample warning. It was hardly as though Erik was playing his hand subtly.

Something told me the proverbial gloves were about to taken off.


	40. Chapter 40

_**Chapter 40**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I rolled my fingers on top of my polished wood drafting desk, fixing O'Hennesey and Albrecht with a firm stare. "Are we clear, Gentlemen?"

O'Hennesey snapped a nod, holding the rolled up drafts in his hand. Albrecht looked apprehensively at the pile on my desk. "Master Erik, are you certain this is wise?"

"Are you suggesting that you are unable to complete your task?" I replied levelly.

"Of course not! I retained my entire team. We are equal to the task. I merely question whether the rag-tag remnants gathered beneath you two will be able to complete these ambitious designs by the freeze."

It was O'Hennesey's rude chuckle that answered him. "Rag-tag we may have been. But my friend, while you have remained down there in the city we have spent the winter up here together, all of us warmed by our distaste of VanHollus's affairs. If this is the season we need to prove that last year wasn't a fluke, well, we're up to it!"

Folding my arms across my chest I added, "Anyone can do something once, men of worth repeatedly produce the same standard. This is the year we prove that Shadowcrest Industries is placing the brass ring for all others to strive to reach. It will be a grueling season with difficult deadlines. But if we can keep to the schedules we will leave no room for the previous toast-of-Manhattan to regain favor."

Albrecht picked up the rolls set aside for his projects. I had two smaller, but highly detailed ones hand selected for him. "I do this for Shaw. Poor man. The way he left the city with his head bowed, barely anything with him. Had to sell off whatever he could, quickly. That man had talent."

I could hardly argue that. "Regretfully, the man he served failed to value that. In doing so he has weakened his prospects, for Shaw was his strongest. All we can do is continue to press forward. The greater the impression we make, the more contracts we shall have in years to come." Which was precisely how I intended to prevail. Every time I had seen VanHollus in the past, I had noticed how much effort he went to thrust himself into the center of attention. That inflated vanity was the key to his undoing. Rather than strike directly back at him, I fully intended to ignore the insolent cad. A tactic that was certain to launch him into a tirade of the most unflattering nature.

"More contracts mean we'd need more men." O'Hennesey offered.

"Precisely, and so I encourage you all to alert me to any new prospects. Especially men who can lead teams." I gestured to a small stack of notes on my desk. "I have clients waiting. The sooner we can break ground on their projects, the more impressed they will be. Some have even offered me extra to climb to the top of the stack."

Both men widened their eyes as they saw it. They had that glazed expression of daydreamers.

"The faster the business grows, the more angered VanHollus will be." I grinned, placing my hands on the desk as I leaned forward. "Imagine laying down the foundations and completing more projects this year than all of his crews."

"Erik," O'Hennesey darted a glance to my hands, long healed over the winter. "He doesn't oversee the work personally, like you do. He just turns the contracts over to lists of men."

I lifted a hand slowly with a sly smile. "What did you just say—lists of men. That is vastly different from the teams we have forged here. Undoubtedly he was able to churn out volume before. But have you ever noticed something about his designs?"

Albrecht shrugged, "I'd know a VanHollus the moment I laid eyes on it. They all look very similar."

"Precisely! And what do the wealthy command?"

O'Hennesey's eyes lit up. Hopping on his toes he crowed, "Something unique! They can afford to get something different, entirely their own."

Brushing my fingers over the plans across the desk I highlighted features. "Each one designed for the client, with strictly that client in mind. That, gentlemen, is the key that will mortar in our victory. VanHollus will never be able to adapt in time. He is too accustomed to regurgitating the same elements ad nauseam. There is no need to engage in a direct war with this man, let his own work crumble his foundations."

"We're with you. These designs will be challenging, but by the end of the season they will be done."

"Oh yes, and one more thing before we break ground on the first projects tomorrow." I held up a finger. "No one is to work for you unless I introduce them to you in person. I have no doubt that he will attempt to sneak someone into the crews, at the very least to gather information. Guard your men. Guard your projects. Anything suspicious, I want to hear about it. No matter how insignificant it is. I will send Gallo on regular trips to both of you."

O'Hennesey swallowed. "You really think he'll try something?"

I laughed, "You honestly believe he would refrain from sabotage? The only question is how much effort he will put into hiding his hand."

"Or sacrificing someone else's," glowered O'Hennesey.

My glare silenced him. No one had spoken of it since that dismal day. The windswept snow had covered the tracks and there had been no rumors of a hand-less man found wandering. Not even a whisper of a corpse once the snows melted, the silent passing of an unremarkable man who had been chasing fame.

I sat down and steepled my fingers, looking over them at the two men. "This is our season, gentlemen. Tomorrow, at dawn, we break ground at three sites. Work your crews to their peak efficiency. Keep those standards high. The teams that push ahead to the next projects on their lists will be well rewarded."

Chins lifted in dual surprise. But neither man said a word. They only smiled, turned to one another and shook hands. O'Hennesey tapped his forehead with his first draft, Albrecht offered a half bow. They swaggered out the door.

Turning to face the window I winced at the blinding ray of sunlight piercing the casements. It was an early thaw … tomorrow I would leave the quarry hamlet in Nadir's watchful protection. Tomorrow would begin the most critical step in my plan to establish myself here.

I would prove I was _the_ master of this island.


	41. Chapter 41

_**Chapter 41**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

An alluring voice filled the still air, lilting with the pattern of well crafted prose. I opened my eyes, not ever recalling having closed them. The corridors of mirrors with their iron chains and gears filled my vision.

How the hell?

Brushing my hand against my naked face, I sighed. Indeed, I was here. Again. After so long a time.

Damn.

Climbing to my feet, I dusted my pants off as I attempted to reconstruct the last memories of the waking world. It had been evening at the quarry house. I'd been at my drafting desk working on an emergency redesign on the mansion that was my primary project. There had been an unforeseen problem … now what was it? Oh yes, the east wing foundation had been laid without problem. However, as we had continued on the far western corner we had run into unstable ground that with the current design risked collapse. Before informing the client, I was hoping to come to him with a redesign that would lighten the load and tuck the edge of the structure back away from danger.

After the harried ride back to home I had been fatigued, but hardly the level of exhaustion I had brought myself to the previous year. O'Hennesey and Albrecht were making excellent headway on their projects and we had the benefit of three new teams which joined our ranks in the early spring. They were melding in well. There had been a few suspicious elements which threatened to disrupt progress and pointed loosely back to VanHollus. But generally, other than his blatant disrespect at social gatherings, very little had been heard of the man. He was keeping a low profile, and I was glad of it.

Everything seemed right within the world.

So why the devil was I here?

Stepping closer to the mirror, I listened keenly to the voice drifting out. It was my voice and I remembered the setting as I gazed upon it. The fireplace crackling merrily as I had sat in a high backed chair in my house by the lake. A book open in my lap as I read aloud to her.

Christine. My Christine. She sat with her back touching the edge of my chair … never me. She would not touch me knowingly at that point. On her face a wistful smile as I read her favorite story. She had taken to the tale of the forbidden red rose which I translated for her as I read. The shy white rose bud, closed to the world, shivering as the nightingale came to her each evening and pledged his heart to her if she would but smile upon him, turn her bloom his way. It took so long, so many nights before at last she did. The pure white bloom glowed in the moonlight, embraced by the nightingale … who's blood sacrifice bathed her red. Their love was forbidden and divinely denied.

My hand drifted a hairs-breadth from diving into that memory. It was a time when I clung to hope that there was a chance of love for me. I should have paid better attention to the moral of the story.

"How sweet."

I spun on my heel at the voice behind me when a screech rent the air. A tearing inside my chest sent me crashing to the ground, panting for breath!

The demon withdrew his claws from the scratches on one of the mirrors. "Hrm, this one must be a memory close to the heart."

Wincing, all I could manage was a pained glare, unwilling to take my eyes off his vile presence. I had not heard him nor sensed him. Once more he was in the hall of mirrors.

I did not like him here!

"Well now," he simpered as he studied his claws. "Someone has been an awfully good boy lately, hasn't he."

Each time I inhaled, my chest burned, my arms remained clamped protectively, despite the entirely useless gesture. "What are you doing back?"

"It's been so long. Aren't you glad to see me? Oh, I suppose not after last time." He showed his jagged teeth. "I'm sure I convinced you that somehow you had seen the last of me. Certainly not. I have been _here_." He pointed at the ground, his eyes narrowing. "I have been saving this intrusion as I watched, gathering strength in reserve, learning some new tricks. I simply love this little construction of yours. So very helpful in learning the intricacies of your very complicated mind. Oh, and of course it has some other nice potential uses too. We'll get to all that later."

The wave of agony began to subside. I staggered to my feet still unable to release my hold. Hissing out, I rolled my eyes at him, "I have no use for you. Now, go away."

Gesturing to the mirror with the story, he gazed at it dreamily. "And here I was kind enough to bring you to one of your best memories. No thanks for that, Erik?"

"Be gone." I intended to shout but only managed a forced wheeze.

He cackled. "No. We have hardly begun. It is time for you realize what you are."

I turned away from him grumbling, "We have been through this time and time again. Another thousand times will make no difference. I am no longer that man."

He cuffed me so hard my vision blurred as I was sent staggering into the chain. The connected gear clinked as the tension pulled it.

"Fool," he rumbled, "it matters not the civilized veneer you wear. Inside you are still the same vile miscreant who cried out an oath to the starry sky. Drape the best suits upon your bones. At your core you are still a thief, a liar, a murderer."

Oh, if I could get my hands around his neck my anger alone would break it. But at the moment I was seeing two of him and the horizon wouldn't stay still. I tried twice unsuccessfully to let go of the chain and only managed to advance the gear two more teeth.

"Erik." The hollow echo of his step carried him across the floor. "You cannot truly believe that those men out there accept you. Seriously, you are only deceiving yourself. Regretfully, it seems there is only one course for you as you simply refuse to be reasonable."

"Reasonable, ha." I blinked hard and gathered enough balance to step away from the chain. "What would a demon kno … " My balance shot out from under me and I found myself pressed up against his claws.

He smiled. He paused long enough to let me see that smile. "Let's put you were you belong." Then, with an unceremonious shove, he threw me into one of the mirrors.

Gravity gripped me with a sickening twist and I fell against the ground hard enough to expel all the air from my lungs. The only sound I heard was the groan I released the moment I had sufficient breath for it. It took me far too long to collect my wits enough to press my body up from the floor. With my head hanging, I spat a little blood out from where I had bitten my lip.

Mirrors. I turned my head slowly and counted them. Six in all. Six merciless panes of reflection pressed against one another in a huge chamber. At the center, the iron tree. It was dark in here now. But I knew. I knew the potential of this place to inspire madness.

"You say you are reformed, you are a gentleman." The demon crouched beside me. "Yes, your mind concocted this device. For a time you savored watching victims writhing within it. Driven insane by delusions until they hung themselves from the tree. Why was this such a pleasure to you? Come now, say it. Say it."

Painfully, I brought my knees beneath me and managed to at least climb into a crouch. My heart was already beating hard and fast. Which one, which one was it?

"Why, Erik? Why was this your secret pleasure?"

I swallowed, licking dry lips. "Because … for a moment they suffered … as I did. To see their faces twisted in horror, thousands leering and shouting in panic. They glimpsed my unending nightmare and could not even last the span of hours."

He nodded slowly. " _Gentlemen_ do not orchestrate vile acts of deception and murder."

"I had no choice! I was forced!"

"Maybe in Persia." He waved a claw and the memory's time rolled forward. The lights came on with the intolerable heat and I saw two men standing inside here. A pane of glass slammed down and separated them. Raoul pounded against the glass, pleading to be released. From his own private chamber, Nadir stared in horror at the mirror, his cries trying to reason with the madman on the other side. Trying to reason with … me.

I sank down onto my hands and knees. By the nine gates of hell, what had I been thinking?

The demon's voice penetrated my spiraling panic, "You cannot lie to me the way you did to him when you said you hadn't known he would follow the wretched boy down to this chamber below the cellar. You knew, you evil wicked animal. You knew he would come and you didn't care. You let him almost sacrifice himself, all to exact revenge on the Vicomte de Chagny. The only person to ever really show a shred of loyalty to you and what did you do? You made him bait for the trap. Bravo! That's about as sadistic as one can get."

"But … he did not … " I panted trying to collect some excuse. "He lived, they both lived."

"Oh yes." He kicked me in the chest. "Because you got a heart for some reason and let them both out. Had you stuck with your plan they both would have been baked alive in here. Returned to ashes, the only worth of that Chagny boy who dared to turn Christine's eye. Face it, Erik, you are a baseless monster."

"No." I cringed back, gasping. "No! I am not that … that thing on the other side of the glass anymore!"

He snapped his claws and both men disappeared. I was alone in the chamber. Surrounded by an infinite number of reflections of my bare face with the iron tree stretching its branch heavenward, the length of rope hanging down.

"Monster." He whispered. "Vile murderer. Freak. Thief. Demented fool who should be locked away like some animal!"

Each word was like a lash across my spine. I writhed against it, hating the tears that poured down my bare face. "No! The men … they do not know that side! Will never know that side!"

"You are an animal no matter how you present yourself. Is not a circus elephant draped in silk still an elephant? The tiger prowling around the ring before the tamer's whip still has his fangs."

Before me, VanHollus filled the room. Infinite reflections of him lifting his glass with the diamond ring shimmering in the light. He was leering, laughing down at me. "You are no man! Real gentlemen have surnames. You are no one and never will be anyone."

"Struck enough times, what does a tiger do?" The demon flashed his teeth. "He either strikes back, or … gives up."

I grabbed my hair and cried out, "I will not do it! No! You cannot make me kill again!"

He laughed. "You already did."

Sticky. I looked at my hands and discovered they were caked with blood. On the ground before me the mallet and chisel. Jerking backward I scrambled away from them. What had I done?

"The man deserved it." He placed a hand on my shoulder which I squirmed to evade but couldn't. "Erik. None of your workmen fault you for that action. They applauded you. Think. What will they do when they see you for what you really are? What will VanHollus do when he learns what lies beneath your silken mask? Society must be guessing. They will pry. They will poke until they get to the bottom of it. Then you will be locked away … where a creature like you belongs."

Against all reason, I twisted out of his hold and flung myself headlong at the blazing hot mirrors. My fingers scorched at the contact. But I continued to beat frantically against the surface screaming for all I was worth to be released from this torment.

"Erik," he cooed, "oh Erik, please do calm down. You built this chamber yourself and know there is no escape through brute force. Besides, in this memory-scape you are a ghost. You cannot interact with anything. You cannot hope to work the little release catch."

Sobbing, I sank down against the surface willing myself to wake up.

"You want out of this … there is a way. You know what they say about dreams, and let's face it, this is a dream."

When I looked up, his claws glided up toward the rope hanging invitingly from the tree.

My heart settled into a rhythm in my chest. Somehow my feet found enough coordination that I was standing. One foot in front of the other, the rope's noose came closer and closer.

"You will never be accepted no matter how hard you try."

" … never … "

"You are a freak of nature that should never have been born."

" … freak … "

"Mad, demented, vile, evil, all your greatest plans are tainted by base deception."

" … evil … "

The coarse rope glistened with blood as I gripped it. I had murdered. Recently. Blood on my hands. Blood.

Slowly I began to slip the rope over my head. There was no other end to this. If I did not do this now others would come to harm.

Harm … others … the workmen's livelihoods … what was I doing?

The impact opened my eyes.

Surroundings had changed. The crackle of a fire, legs of a desk. I was laying on the floor, a chair toppled over behind me. Smoke?

Smoke!

I yanked myself up to find the candle overturned on the desk licking its flames against the wood. Flicking it upright I dashed across the room and seized the small bowl of water I used to clean my fingers during drafting. Quickly enough, the flames were extinguished but my desk was sopping wet as well as corners of the drafts.

I bowed my head, just trying to find myself in the moment when the door banged open and Nadir came charging in. "Are you alright? I heard a noise?"

I inhaled slowly, finding I had indeed landed hard enough on the arm of the chair to give myself a sizable bruise. "Fine."

Swiftly he dashed to the desk and observed the mess with wandering eyes. "What happened?"

My hands. My hands in the candlelight were pale as ever. A dream. It had all been a bloody dream. Laughter tore through my thoughts.

Nadir placed a hand on my arm. "Erik, why are you trembling? Look me in the eyes. Erik, I mean it! Something is wrong with you!"

Of course I was trembling. I was half-awake and just saved the place from becoming a blazing inferno. Even I could only tolerate so much excitement. I glanced at him and jerked my arm away. "Leave me alone. I told you. I am fine." Rubbing my, side I grumbled, "I dozed off and fell out of my chair. The candle tipped over and nearly sent hours of work up in blazes. You would be shaking too. Now, go back to bed."

Like an annoying gnat, he persisted on getting in front of me every time I turned. "Erik, your eyes. For Allah's sake, look at me!"

My hand flew back in an arch, every muscle trembled as I held my anger in check enough not to let it fly. He knew. He drew back with his hands before him defensively. Cowering, he stumbled backward.

"Out of my way!" I dropped my hand and pushed him aside, stalking out the door into the night. To explain would leave him at risk. I could not control myself right now. Damn it all! Clasping my left wrist I fled up the path to the top edge of the quarry.

Only the crickets kept me company. The night wind stirred the rushes. The full moon was so bright as to banish the stars that usually framed her. What should have been a field of deep blue was nearly bright as day.

Alone, I sat on the edge of the chasm I had made, my feet dangling. The throb of anger was slow to ebb. His words, his vile words! I could not look at Nadir without fresh pangs of guilt stabbing into me. Staring down at my shoes, all polished and pristine … it nagged me. What did they really see? What did they imagine the mask hid? If anyone learned … but there was a whole ocean between my past and here. Who would carry such a rumor?

It was on a night similar to this in Italy that I had been sitting on Giovanni's scaffolding after having stabbed a new workman who had joined the team. He had uttered the words _Living Corpse_ , the name I had been displayed under with the Gypsies who had held me captive.

On that night I had asked myself, how had such a rumor journeyed all the way to Italy?

Lifting my gaze to the moon, I felt no more comfort this eve.


	42. Chapter 42

_**Chapter 42**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Will you kindly leave me alone." I snarled at the wall, forced to concentrate far too hard on the mallet and chisel.

 _Why? Am I bothering you?_

His voice, that accursed little voice had been nagging me off and on for weeks since he had reappeared. Interjecting his opinion, whispering nonsense, creating scenarios that sent my heart hammering inside my chest. The intrusions occurred all day and night.

"I am trying to work."

 _Keep your voice down, don't want anyone hearing you talking to yourself. That would go over well. How quickly they would send you to the asylum._

My hand stalled, the angle of the strike just barely missing a glancing blow to the raw stone beneath. I cursed aloud and clamped my eyes shut as the panic flooded within me. He was getting far too talented at not only distracting me, but triggering the baser instincts.

Laughter filled my head, low with amusement.

 _Shall we see how loyal your workers are? Come on, Erik. You know if they knew about me no promise in the world would be enough to keep them from binding you in a cell. Simple as that._

I leaned on the wall, brushing my calloused fingers against the cut as if inspecting it. Breathe. Just breathe … in and out. Not weak enough yet. Don't let him drive the fury and gain control. Just push the heartbeat back down. No one has heard anything. No one knows about the sounds within my head.

"Master Erik?"

"What?" I snapped, still staring at the wall idly.

 _He's behind you! Those beady eyes staring with horror. You are shaking, Erik. You are not the master of me, not even the master of yourself. In your hands is a weapon. Defend yourself._

I inhaled and exhaled as the wretched demon pattered on and on. The supposed threat behind me I knew to be Grimaudo. He shuffled a foot back at my sharp tone.

"I'm sorry, Master Erik—Sir, but I have finished the cuts you requested. They await your inspection."

When I looked back over my shoulder, he dashed his eyes to the ground, cap twisting in his dusty hands. Rising to my feet I dropped the mallet and chisel into my bag. Time seemed to have gotten away from me, the height of the sun reaching its zenith. I pulled out my pocket-watch and soon enough discovered that I had indeed lost track of things, likely as a result of someone's ceaseless bantering. Progress on my stonework had been far less than I had desired.

 _Pity._

"Silence." I whispered.

Grimaudo snapped his head up, "Pardon, Sir?"

I closed my watch and cleared my throat. "Nothing. After I inspect your work I have a prior engagement. Come along, now. I am short on time." It would take me a bit of time to get cleaned up and to the men's club I had been invited to by Reed. Fortunately, I had already done something like this a few times and found a few discreet places in the city with which to change attire out of the sight of prying eyes.

 _Lest someone see what's beneath the mask._

Ignoring the remark, I ran my hand along Grimaudo's work. "You did all of this unaided?"

Still twisting his cap between his fingers he nodded stiffly. "Yessir. Every bit of it."

 _Well now, he's a lousy apprentice. That's piss poor work if I've ever seen it._

"His work is fine!" I growled before catching myself. Over my shoulder I spied him looking oddly up at me. "This—this work is fine. Well done, young Grimaudo. You may proceed."

The unasked question lingered in his eyes before he bowed. "Thank you, Master."

Even as I walked off I felt his curious gaze following me.

 _They will take you away. Lock you up. Maybe sell you to a freak show. People pay good money to gawk and stare. So much more here than they did in the forests of old world. Erik, once they have you, never again would you be free. Far more valuable as a freak than as an architect._

The moment I was out of sight of the men I broke into a run, pointless as it was. It is impossible to outrun something that lurks inside.

 _It has not escaped your attention, I know it hasn't. Just across the East River, on that lovely little island with all the bright lights and blaring music. Coney Island they call it. Such an attraction. Men from your crews have chattered on about the sights they saw in the freak show there. At the civilized social gatherings even the elite have partaken in the wonder. Wonder what they would think about you without that mask?_

My hand strayed up, brushing the white silk mask I had recently made. A shudder rippled through me. Had fortune not provided me with the means to make new ones, by now I'd be doomed. The ones I had brought over with me had fallen apart. Even the leather ones. I had plenty now. The mere thought of not having this barrier drove me to such distraction I nearly collided with a passing carriage.

Leaping back, I held my hand to my chest at the close call, trying to still my heart from the very real threat of his distracting banter.

I had hoped the annoying demon would lose his strength. But it seemed his claim of gaining power remained confirmed. While attempting to conduct myself with some decorum at the lunch I was continuously trying to think through a maelstrom of scathing remarks and annoying snippets of bawdy songs. In order to keep my mouth from blurting out some manner of highly inappropriate turn of phrase, I became taciturn to point of utter distraction.

"Erik?"

A hand appeared on the table in front of me where I had been staring at my tea, apparently, for some time. I glanced up to find Reed looking at me with no small amount of concern.

"Are you alright? Zimmers has asked you the same question twice and you just stare at your untouched cup."

Blinking, I glanced back down at the tea. They even brought it how I liked it, with lemon. Proper Russian tea. "My apologies. I am a bit … " _Mad, insane, crazy …_ " … distracted today, gentlemen. Zimmers, your question if you would?"

Straightening the lapel on his suit, he studied me intensely. "As long as I have your attention for a fleeting moment. I had heard you were the one constructing the Willett mansion. We were discussing it the other day when Mister Willett took dinner at my house while tending to my wife's hysteria. Such a fine apothecary he is. A few drops in her tea and she is quite within her right mind."

 _If only there were something like that for you._

I fought hard to hide the cringing at the remark, covering it by lifting my cup and taking a sip from the tepid tea.

"Well," Zimmers continued, "he told me that there had been an exquisite adjustment to his plans which included a two story solarium on the western corner. Quite an unusual structure with thin arches of stone."

 _Is there a question here? Or does he simply like to hear himself speak?_

Ripples in the tea betrayed my trembling. If I could throttle that demon—

 _They are looking, they are thinking, how odd. What a freak he is. To take tea in a mask._

Zimmers had continued to speak, but I had missed most of it. " … Where do such inspired ideas come from?"

Reaching up, I massaged my right temple and tried to think of a reply. The words were not coming together and the voice in my head was doing everything possible to stop them.

 _You are nothing like them. Even polished up like this. Don't look now, but everyone is staring at you. Reed, Zimmers, the other guests. Here you sit, on display. Not for your talent, but because you are an oddity. A curiosity to them. See how they gawk and stare._

My hand tightened into a fist before I could stop it.

This time Reed placed a hand on my shoulder. Goaded by the words, I jerked away from a perceived threat. Fortunately my hand missed the silverware it attempted to grasp.

"Erik … are you sure you are alright?"

Making a show of rubbing my temple I sighed. "Just … just a headache." I lied. But it was convincing enough that the men around the table all abandoned their tension, nodding slowly.

Zimmers sat up straight and offered a sympathetic smile. "I had heard you worked the stone alongside your crew." He glanced at the callouses on my hands, which I promptly hid the moment they garnered any attention. "Perhaps too much heat and sun. You should speak to Willett, he likely knows of something that would sooth a headache."

 _Or perhaps something that will knock you out long enough to cage you._

I could not suppress the flinch.

Reed leaned forward, "It's a long ride back up to your house by the quarry. Maybe you would be wise to go home."

"I will be fine." Reaching for the cup I forced myself to swallow another mouthful of tea. The fine china clattered dreadfully as I set it back down. "Nothing serious."

 _Oh yes, nothing to be alarmed about. Behind you!_

His sudden alarmed cry resulted in me twisting to stare defensively at the blank space behind me.

That's it! The next time I was going to take the seat by the wall. When I turned back to the table every eye stared at me clearly fighting to not betray their concern.

"You … you aren't looking so well. You really should go lie down, get some rest."

A slow laugh echoed inside my head. _Sleep. That would be wonderful. Grant me unfettered access to you. Then the real fun begins. I have been waiting. You have been so careful not to sleep too long. All it will take is just once, one time where you close your eyes and this delicate dance ends, Erik. Society will see what you truly are._

I don't remember standing. I don't remember how I got to leaning over the table gasping in air that refused to fill my chest enough. I just remember the ungovernable tremor that tore through me as I growled out, "Sleep is the last thing I need right now!"

Without another word, I turned and pressed my way through the hallway, in my haste neglecting to collect my things from the coat check. I had to get away. I had to clear my head and banish this wretched voice to silence before he drove me to some despicable action.

In a trance, I returned to the Willett mansion, isolating myself to complete my tasks. He talked. On and on he talked. Words that I refused to listen to. The sun beat down upon me and I never noticed. Hours later, when the light was fading in the sky, I spun as a hand pressed against my shoulder.

Reed shifted back from me, alarm in his eyes. Cautiously, he held out my gloves and the cloak I had been wearing earlier. He squinted, "I just came here to give these back to you when you didn't return to our lunch. Good heavens, Erik. You gave us all quite a fright, the way you left in such a hurry. We all thought perhaps you had taken some air and would be back. The entire time you had sat at the table it was as though you were not there at all. What is wrong?"

"Wrong?" I stiffened, setting the cloak and gloves aside. "There is nothing wrong with me. Nothing at all." My words came swifter than I wished, a defensive torrent. "As I told you, I am fine. Merely distracted. The mansion is at critical steps and my clients are my all."

He backed away, holding up both hands. "I meant no offense, my dear friend. Only that there was concern … after last year, with the damage to you hands—"

"My hands are fine." I barked, holding them up before his eyes. "I am a grown man quite capable of looking after myself."

"I have no doubt—"

"Then leave me to my work!"

 _Look at the way he studies you. He thinks you are mad._

Reed didn't take his eyes from me as he backed up another step, his mouth open, his words unspoken.

"I am busy." I placed the flat of my hand against the stone. "That is all. Just busy as any man who actually engages in his own trade knows!"

His eyes widened. "VanHollus! Oh no, Erik, don't let his remarks drive you to madness."

"I am not mad!" I screamed at him before I could even hope to control myself. It was the moment before my foot stepped awkwardly on a discarded chisel. The result sent me tumbling backwards into the wall.

 _Yes, that was such rational behavior. Bravissimo._

Cautiously, Reed creapt up to my side. He offered his hand, which I shrugged off and twisted back to my own feet. Seizing the chisel, I threw it into my bag with a muttered curse.

 _Civilized and oh so silken tongued._

"Just go away!" I yelled.

Footsteps echoed against the stones. When I turned around, Reed was gone. Too late to tell him I had not been talking to him. My shoulders fell even as the bastard laughed in my mind. Who would I have said I _was_ talking to?

Slowly I collected my tools. Whether or not I liked it, it was time to go home.

 _Sleep._

"You wish." I smirked. No, tonight I would smoke my pipe and drown out his bantering with the Stradivarius's music. It was him who would be sleeping tonight, not me. Somehow I had to find a way to deny him access. To the waking world. To the dreaming world. He had been ignored for far too long and was growing alarmingly stronger.

Something had to be done.


	43. Chapter 43

_**Chapter 43**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

Silence.

It had been far too quiet in his room for far too long. No lingering scent of opium. This house wasn't that big. Yet it seemed to take an eternity just to cross the hall, his door knob mocking my hand as I found my will hesitating to turn it.

Throughout the last weeks, his alarming behavior had spiraled ever more erratic. More than once I had dashed into a room armed with the nearest heavy object I could find thinking I would find an intruder. Behind the door, Erik's enraged voice ranted on to no replies. He was always alone, wide awake, arguing with the dark corner of the room. Even when he was quiet, odd twitches infected his motions and I found myself staring at the hunted-animal instinct that had ensured his survival in the Persian courts.

That was all until last night when he returned well after dusk. His tool bag lay discarded on the staircase … the thump I had heard. Footsteps up the staircase had been far from coordinated. Twice I had heard him stumble and curse. His door slammed … and then nothing.

I sat the whole day in my room with the door open. Rain assaulting the windowpane was the only sounds to accompany my vigil.

My pocket-watch told me it was nearly eleven o'clock as I rose and stood outside the door. Straying, my eyes glanced down at my wrist, the memory of his stony grip lingered there. I risked my life entering that room. I risked his if I didn't.

He could have stumbled on the stairs because he'd been injured at the site. What if my apprehension to face my friend in an hour of need left him dying … alone?

Swallowing my dread, I opened the door to darkness.

A blaze of lightning rent the sky, outlining Erik's cluttered room. I had not been in here since we had moved up to the quarry house. That day, the shelves had been empty. Now they were scattered with remnants of his life, things he could not part with in his exile. Equipment and journals from his laboratory, leather bound books from his collection of novels, tools and devices he would tinker with to build the most astonishing machines … as usual it was scantily organized, showing the evidence of his perpetual need to occupy his mind.

Another blue flash of light illuminated a figure lying atop the covers. Erik lay on his back, his hands stiffly interlaced on the center of his chest. In the dark, it was difficult to see more than his outline. Plagued by the memory in that Bowery bedroom, I did not dare rush up to his side. Pensively I approached, my feet refusing to go closer then halfway into the room.

His chest rose, the soft whisper of air entering followed.

Thank Allah! He still drew breath.

A series of flashes granted me a better look. There was no sign of blood, he was pale, but that was Erik's complexion. Nothing about him looked peaceful or at rest. His intertwined fingers bore white knuckles. Beneath the edge of the mask, I spied tension pulling his lower lip into a fine line. The blanket beneath and his disheveled clothing were damp with sweat.

This was not resting.

"Erik?" I dared to whisper, cringing back in anticipation of an action that did not follow. There was no change. "Erik, are you ill?"

His hands clenched, forming claws. Sucking in a deep breath he shivered for a long moment before his lips parted. The voice was distant, strained. "Nadir … does the storm still rage?"

Open your eyes, Erik! Dear Allah, just open your eyes. I glanced out at the rain lashed window. There were things more important then a storm. "Yes. Erik … you need to get up."

His hands pulsed against his chest. In the lighting flash I saw the shifting of his eyes beneath the clamped lids. "No … " he whispered, "no, you need to get out of here."

"But … "

Tension seized him. Erik's head rolled to the side briefly before snapping back. Both his hands shot to his sides, death-gripping the bed. He shrieked, "Get out, now!"

Haunted by the memory of the previous violence my feet scrambled to leave the room, abandoning Erik at his command. I tripped and fell against the door, cutting off my path.

Let me out of here!

The smooth metal doorknob slipped in my hand as I grasped madly. At last wrenching it open, I tore out the door into the refuge of the hallway.

Safe over the threshold. Only there could I dare to gaze back into the storm cast bedroom where he lay racked with tension. Powerless to help him, I sank to my knees.

 _ **~Erik~**_

" _Erik, are you ill?"_ The whisper drifted through the mirrored wilderness. Lifting my head I peered around me. Nothing had shifted. There was no sensation of intrusion.

I was yet alone. This was no memory. The voice was Nadir calling to me. How long had I been here? I honestly had no idea how long all this had taken. Only that the sacrifice was crucial.

It had been my hope that no one had noticed my absence. The growing thunderstorm I had observed as I rode home had the potential to provide the perfect cover. No crews would be building in the storms. If I could only complete this before the weather cleared, before I was missed.

"Nadir …" It took far too much concentration to speak, but I could not risk him trying to fully rouse me. " … does the storm still rage?"

The reply was a world away, trembling with fear, _"Yes. Erik … you need to get up."_

"No … " I need to finish this. Once and for all. If things did not go as planned he should not be in this room with me. I had an idea of how far this demon might go if I faltered. " … no, you need to get out of here."

" _But … "_

A rustling. I snapped my head up to spy a dark shape slinking between the mirrors.

What I had been waiting for. "Get out, now!" I threw everything I had into the desperate plea before severing the link. In the midst of the mirrors I settled back into a meditative posture, my shielded eyes following the figure as he stalked around the entire clearing.

Shifting in the shadows, he emerged as the angel form. Tall and arrogant, he floated down before, me laughing softly.

"Well now. You have finally returned as I knew you must. That is rather choice attire." He placed a finger to his chin as I observed him through the top of the eye holes of my mask. "The finely tailored raven robes you wore in the Persian courts and I see the ostentatious demi-god mask of hand-beaten gold. Oh! Somehow you have managed to peel thirty years from your aging husk of a body. Bravissimo. I must say, that little trick alone deserves applause."

I remained with my legs crossed, hands tucked into the silk sleeves of my robe. "You look surprised at what you are seeing."

He flicked a wing, leaning back to get a better look. "Is this the same who staunchly told me that this very man was dead and buried? Yet, you have resurrected him fully."

Languidly I shrugged, "It was you who insisted on seeing him again. Consider it a gift. Glimpsing the Angel of Doom in all his glory."

Crouching down he stared directly into my eyes. "Remarkable."

Slowly I retracted my right hand from the folds of fabric and removed the mask, setting it in my lap. "For your full observation."

"You truly did remove the effects of aging. How?"

"Why does something as commonplace as aging obsess a demon?" I let my fingers trail in the air, forming patterns as I studied him … waiting. "Everything ages, except demons of course. You in all these years … timeless."

His brow furrowed as he leaned forward. "Yes but, to reverse the ravages of time. It cannot be done."

"Clearly it can." Circles and patterns, waves of graceful gestures playing with the subconscious mind. I could have been spinning a collection of magician's orbs and had the same effect. The allure did not require any object—just the motion. "Anything is possible, just not always probable. There is something you forget."

When I did not go on, he leaned just a bit closer, his pupils shrinking as the irises lost their tension. A slow whisper escaped him … just a word. "What?"

At that moment of slack-jawed confusion, my left hand brought the mallet up into his chin, the silken folds having concealed it perfectly. Dazed he staggered backwards with a garbled cry.

"This world is **my** creation!" I unfolded, rising to my full height with the mallet poised above my head. "I am the ruler here and it is time I took my kingdom back!"

The strike was true, a crippling blow to his right scapula. The force shattered the attached wing bone in a shower of feathers. Crumpling to his knees, he wailed out wordlessly.

I bent down and snatched up the metal mask. "You will find there is a new rule in this wilderness. Go on, try to shift your shape with a broken bone. Honestly, I am elated you have chosen this form. It will be far more rewarding to break you like this."

He panted, pressing up from the ground in a crouch. "I can change … " Nothing more than a shudder and a scream of pain.

Laughter filled me as I circled his fallen body. "The broken can no longer change, my old friend." I mocked him, tapping my leg with the mallet.

Sucking in air, he glared at me with pure malevolence. "How dare you! I will tear you to pieces!"

With a rude bow, I snapped my chin at him. "You've been trying and failing. Why should today be any different." Turning on my heel I stalked away, keeping a guarded eye over my shoulder. Sure enough, he wrenched himself to his feet. With a disgusted look thrown to the crippled wing he surged toward me.

Fleetly I dashed into the maze of mirrors rewarded by the symphony of cries that escaped him as he pursued me. Each time I let him gain ground before vanishing into a twist and turn. The images in the mirrors meant nothing to me in my quest to rid myself of this monster. Pressing him into a mirror had not held him forever. That would require something more … suitable.

My mallet weighed in one hand, the beaten gold mask in the other. Keep following … come on … on my heels …

"Where have you been hiding?" He panted. "Somehow … you have been here. I can smell it on you. Why did I not sense you before?"

Vanishing behind a mirror, I refused to answer him, watching as he dragged the wing behind him, cursing.

"Erik? Where the devil have you gone now?"

Hovering the mallet above my target, I took a deep breath and braced myself. There was no way this was not going to hurt.

A spark lept into the air the moment I drove the head of the mallet down on the chain. The links skipped free of the gear. Tension released, gravity took the counterweight into a freefall. On the other end, a heavy gear attached to the end of the chain swung to the end of a catch point. Propelled forward by the sling shot, the gear slammed against the demon's body. He had a single moment to register the implications before the collision carried him on a pathway into a mirror behind him.

The glass shattered.

Already down on my hands and knees, I tensed against the wave that tore at my fibers, fighting the urge to scream. At least I had known it was coming. "I hope that was not an important memory." I wheezed. Purposefully I had chosen at random, and not looked before moving the blind.

The wave subsided slowly, allowing me to rise. The only sound that reached me was the whistle of the beast's breath, echoing from the room beyond.

Behind the mirror, the chamber had waited for him to be lured there. Waited for gravity to send him to his fate, crashing though the pane of glass. Trails of blood trickled from the opening.

"Take on your true form, Beast. Mock me no more as an angel." I stalked toward the dark void where a tail now stretched out. Inside, tangled in the chains, his beastly form lie on his side pierced by the glass.

"No … " he panted, the chain clanked as he shook trying to get his lacerated limbs beneath him. "Erik. You need me."

My shadow fell over him from where I stood in the door, hand on the lever that would release it to shut on him.

Panic welled in his eyes. He lifted his head from the floor, blood seeping from his wounds. "The world will still hunt you! Will try to kill you. Erik, you need me to … to protect you! You can't leave me in here! You need me!"

Just a slight pressure, it was all it took and the door began its final journey, closing slowly. "I built this place for you. A solitary chamber closed off from the rest of me. Batter your claws, wail your desires, gnash your teeth … no one will care. Least of all, me. You are nothing to me now."

The chains became a chorus of desperate clanks blending with his cries, "I am your strength. I am your power!"

The shaft of light tracing his outline grew narrower and narrower. I snuffed, "You are a weakling and a coward. With one broken wing you became helpless. When my wings were broken in this void I did not plead. I found a way to rise despite them. You … are nothing to me but a burden."

"Erik! Please! Don't trap me here!"

The iron door ground to a halt, his tail blocking the opening. I glanced down as he writhed against the pressure, his one last hope of remaining free of the prison.

Wordlessly, I placed the edge of the metal mask against the raw flesh. Drawing back the mallet, I savored his scream of anticipation as I drove it down in a savage strike severing the very bones. Freed from its body, the limb withered and decayed, vanishing even as the gap of the door closed. It afforded one final glimpse of his petrified eyes. I smiled.

A gust of air disturbed my robes as it sealed shut and all the locks slid into place. The lip on the inside of the door would keep his claws from getting anywhere near the mechanisms. There was no escaping this prison within my mind. I had assured it in its painstaking construction.

My toe brushed against the crumpled gold mask. Almost bending down to retrieve it, I stopped myself short. Instead I picked it up and pressed it against the center of the door. Binding together, the golden facade melded into the iron, forging a distorted face in the door. A glare of warning about what lie within.

"Sleep well in shadows unfathomable, you misbegotten monster."

Mallet in hand, I turned to wander the corridors, awaiting my release.

 _ **~Nadir~**_

The sweet tang of opium stung my nostrils. I pressed up from my bed. I had not remembered falling asleep. Outside the window, dawn was lightening the sky to a clear day.

Springing from my bed, I peered down the hall to find that Erik's door was shut. Flinging it open I discovered his room was empty.

Where was he?

Follow the scent of the opium. The aroma grew stronger as I crept for the stairs, down to the first floor. Tendrils drifted from Erik's office where I found him sitting at his drafting desk wreathed in smoke. The pipe in his right hand, he was sketching with his left.

From the safety of the threshold I called out softly, "What are you doing?"

I was greeted with that familiar delay of reaction as his glazed eyes searched for me. A crooked smile accompanied his relaxed reply. "Mansioning."

My head cocked. There was enough haze hanging in the air for a den of smokers. "Erik … that's not a word."

He shrugged taking another inhale and holding it deep before letting the smoke drift out, his eyes following the lazy paths it formed. "It is now. It means to draft ones mansion as a reward … I suppose. Yes. That is what it means."

"A reward?" I cautiously stepped closer. Every motion he made was infused with the euphoria that intense opium use supplied. No strange rogue motions, no twitches. No aggression. Erik was … reclining in the chair with a lopsided smile.

"A reward for a success."

I scratched my head. "But, you have no new contracts that I am aware of. And none of the structures are done yet. Erik, you have been working too hard. I suspect you don't know what you are talking about."

He snorted with laughter, dropping the quill to cover his mouth at the rude outburst. It took him a moment to recover. He pointed to his head and declared, "But I do. I have built the perfect building. I have done it. I have turned the key and secured the future."

Glancing at the desk, I spied the rough sketches of what looked to be an entrance, a grand one at that! I knew little of architectural names. But there was a balcony and columns, the facade graced by carved friezes. This was the only new item, the rest were older client designs. And a sketch wasn't built. He wasn't making any sense at all.

"This?" I pointed at the draft.

He wobbled to his feet and grinned. "No, you are not listening. That is the reward, the reward for being good. For doing the right thing. Creating the perfect place that nothing can escape. Solid stone walls, door of iron thick, no sound, no light. For turning the key at last." Throwing his head back he stretched his arms to the sky, ashes raining from the pipe. "I am free!"

"Erik! Watch out!" I stomped out the embers glowing on the floorboards. "And sit back down before you fall over. How much have you smoked?"

He giggled as he sagged into the chair, eyes not following anything. "Does it matter?"

"Quite frankly, yes. What's gotten into you?"

He shook his head and proudly boasted, "It is what has gotten **out** of me that matters."

He returned to his draft, leaving me in silence.


	44. Chapter 44

_**Chapter 44**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

"Master Erik, is it … well, is it to your satisfaction?" O'Hennesey lingered in the entryway of what would become the Tartenworks Fabric Mill.

Dropping down from the scaffolding, I nodded. "I do believe that Mister Dougal will be impressed. You managed this ahead of schedule."

His chest swelled. Behind him the eager crew exhaled held breath.

"That means your crew completed two full projects this season, prior to the first frost."

"Not as much stone as you shifted, Sir. That mansion, I have to say, when I laid eyes on the plans I couldn't imagine it being done in one building season. Yet tonight there's a dinner there?"

A sigh escaped me. It was an invitation I could scarcely refuse. Willett wanted to show off his new home with a grand affair. And by rights the architect should be there. I was to be a guest of honor. Since that unfortunate display with Reed, I had managed to mend the issue, offering the excuse that I had been taken ill to explain the outbursts. The deception seemed to have worked nicely. I had been greeted respectfully ever since, men still engaging me as I went about my day, inquiring about commissioning my skills. I had to be careful, but without that grating voice in my head, I had only my temper to rein in. Some days that proved simpler than others. Lately there was more to celebrate than pressure on my shoulders.

"You don't seem excited." O'Hennesey squinted. "If it was me I'd be tickled to sit at the table with all them nicely dressed folk eating a twelve course meal. Heh, stuff me a like a goose!"

I rolled up the plans from the building offering him a shrug. "Keep working like this and you will earn your right to sit at a client's table soon enough. As for me, I could truly do without it. I have better ways to spend my time then exchanging pleasantries, especially with the insincere that lurk within that crowd."

He waved a hand to his men. "Strike the scaffolding. We're done." Keeping pace with me as I walked out of the building into the afternoon sunlight, he chuckled. "Seems to me that men with that much resource can't afford to be dishonest."

"Precisely the opposite. Throughout the world it is often those with the most who persist in the vilest of deceptions. It seems to be law. I just want to build. They want to play games where men are pawns to be sacrificed."

He paused in his tracks. "You wouldn't do that, right? You wouldn't sacrifice us … "

Blandly I replied, "Show me dedication and I will offer the same respect to you."

With a tug of his cap, he grinned.

"Erik!" Gallo came dashing up to me. Hastily he grasped the cuff of my jacket. "You need to come with me, right now! Hurry!"

"Truly, Gallo, I detest it when you pull me down the street like I am a fruit cart." Freeing my sleeve I eyed him. "What is the matter that requires such haste?"

He shuffled his feet, glancing over his shoulder. "You have to hear this ... brought the fellow himself. Right over there. Come on, he ain't gonna show himself in public. Hurry."

Papers still in hand, I followed the frantic Italian at a more sedate pace into an alley. Clinging to the shadows, a dusty man kept his eyes on the ground, quailing as I approached.

"It's alright, Bevier." Gallo placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is him. Just tell him what you told me in the pub."

"Master Erik," he stuttered. "Senior Gallo says you hire crews, men who have lost their jobs because of … well … "

When the silence went on too long, I tapped the pages against my leg. "He speaks true. I hire loyal men who are willing to produce work to my exacting demands. Keen eyes and hands. You know of such a crew?"

He nodded stiffly, eyes still on the ground. "Yessir. Just this morning Master Cavilade told us the news. We was all dismissed. Even hisself, Sir. We was all packing up our things, when this fancy dressed dandy sauntered by. Didn't even spare a glance for me." Sniffling a bit, he glanced up at me before his eyes snapped back to the ground. A conditioned response. "Never do. Never see us. Well, this man was clearly the one who had dismissed us all. Van … VanHo … "

"VanHollus," I completed.

"How did you know?" This time he looked up inquisitively.

"I am familiar with his tactics. The same man has been attempting to dismantle Shadowcrest Industries the whole of this year. He is an intolerable black mark on society."

"Oh dear." He swallowed, casting a worried glance at Gallo.

His reply was to snap a quick nod. "Go ahead. He needs to know what you heard."

Color drained from his face as he looked back up at me. I saw his eyes tracing the edges of my mask with dread. "Well, Sir. I heard this VanHollus telling another fellow that he intends to buy the block of land on seventh avenue, right by the southern edge of Central Park. As well as a number of other parcels of land for clients. I heard all those, too. Intends to have a busy year."

I narrowed my eyes at Gallo. So what? I had the same idea myself, already selecting locations to purchase now that I had funds to do so. An architect who held deeded land was able to speed up the process. It was a common tactic. Why should I care?

"The Central Park block you see, he intends as a private project. A large building of the most ornate facade so as to catch the eyes of all who pass by. But it won't be a home or a mansion, Master Erik. Oh no."

At the rate he was growing paler I had to wonder whether he was somehow bleeding to death. "Out with it."

Cringing, he looked to the ground. "He's going to build a cabinet of curiosities, Sir. The name, the name will be Shaded Crest Oddities."

My hand tightened into a fist, heartbeat driving until it was all I heard in my ears. There was no denying the thinly veiled stab at my business name. Furiously, I pulled out the map of the city I had rolled up earlier. Blocks and lots detailed along the streets all numbered. Notes on known plots were indicated.

"Bevier." I clenched my teeth to hold back my desire to strangle something. "Please be so kind as to share with me the location of the plots he stated."

Trembling he looked at the map in my white knuckled hands. "What do you intend to do?"

"Procure some deeds within the hour." This would end now. The man had gone too far. "Then I intend to hire Cavilade, as I understand he is an excellent master stone mason. Next year your crew will be building for me. Now, make sure these are right, as many as you can remember."

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

"What?" On the other side of the counter the dimwitted clerk blinked up at me. "What do you mean I can't purchase the lots? Don't you know who I am?"

"I do, Jonkheer VanHollus, but it makes no difference." He shrugged. "I'm sorry. But the deeds have already been purchased."

"When?" My fist pounded on the marble.

He held his hands up. "The reason I know the numbers is because I only just processed them."

"When! Certainly not all of them!" I shrieked.

On the counter my eyes were drawn to the stack splayed out by his hasty motion. I snatched the papers even as he tried to take them back. Surely enough, each and every lot number I had come here specifically to purchase was listed as a formal deed. Every one of them bore the identical signet mark. An elaborate scrawling, embracing a feather quill and a compass. It looked like a letter in the middle, the imprints had smeared.

Someone had secured the purchases using a signet ring.

I threw the stack, watching the clerk scramble to catch the fluttered pages. "Intolerable that these plots were not be available to me! I pay your office enough!"

"We didn't know," he stammered, clutching the papers to him. "Or we would have held them for you."

"Useless idiots!"

"Perhaps we can arrange some other lots for you … perhaps … "

Rounding on him, I slammed my cane tip beside his fingers causing him to leap back in shock. "I don't want something else. I want what I selected. I had plans that are now ruined!"

I turned and stormed out of the office, slamming the door hard enough that the pane of glass cracked. Now I had to find out who had stolen my land. Before anything else I needed to find Polstern and berate him for divulging my future purchases. He was the only one I had told of my plan to humiliate that cur, Erik. And just earlier today!


	45. Chapter 45

_**Chapter 45**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

By some miracle the evening progressed with a remarkable lack of drama. Seated in the luxurious dining room Willett's nearly two dozen guests were savoring the fourth course, a filet of fish in a light citrus sauce. I admired his taste in wine. The Riesling was a fine companion to the dish. Despite the savory cuisine, I could hardly get a mouthful of anything before the next inquiry was made. I was beginning to think it would be more efficient to just swallow the flaked fish directly off the fork than to even make an attempt to chew. Regardless of how many times I replied to the same question of _how did you …_ I politely explained to the curious, as if hearing it for the first time.

At the head of his dining table, Willett continued to smile as he had throughout the entire tour of his mansion. Everyone was in awe.

Well, everyone save one _guest_. I was not the only one at the table to cast a questioning glance at the figure who made snide remarks as he held his glass up.

"Mister Willett can afford to throw his money away on a building like this but he cannot afford attentive staff? More wine!" VanHollus twisted in his seat, his voice loud enough to carry throughout the lavishly decorated hall.

With effort, the conversations continued ignoring the attempted disruptions.

Beside me, Dougal wiped his mouth with a cloth, a precursor to his next question. "Monsieur Erik, you are French and yet you studied in Italy? What brought you there?"

"Curiosity." I answered simply, but a gentle wave of his hand requested more. "The pinnacle of classical architecture lies in Italy. I had no intention of settling for mediocre and thus desired to study under the greatest. It was there I apprenticed with a master stone mason and learned the synergy between the lines on paper and the structure it will become. I believe it should be a requirement of every architect to work a few years under a master stone mason to learn the nuances of the material. What one draws may be elegant and regal but, if the stone itself is incapable of bearing the load, the design becomes a pile of rubbish."

"That would indeed be beneficial." Dougal stroked his chin as he remarked, "I believe we have all seen that happen a few times here, when a structure had fallen even before it was completed."

It did not escape my attention that he disguised a glance at VanHollus as he reached for his glass. There was no call for me to reply. In a rare moment between the questions, I reached forward with my right hand and picked up my wine glass.

VanHollus glanced my way and froze. In mid motion his hand stopped its journey toward the fish on his plate and he leaned forward like a dog pointing game in the brush. No one else noted his obsessive stare across the table, his eyes following my glass as I raised it. I doubt he noticed I was watching him through the cover of my silk mache mask.

His chair scraped across the floor as he stood. Still gawking he rounded the table with each footstep echoing. In a steady wave, all conversation ceased in the room. Polite rules of society fought against their will to curiously stare at his uncouth actions. As VanHollus stalked around the head of the table even Willett followed his passage out of the corner of his eyes, pretending to be picking at his fish.

Hunching over, VanHollus's eyes widened as he stared at my right hand. Or rather … the ring riding on my finger.

Uncertain of his intentions, every muscle within me prepared. Outwardly I turned just enough to glance up at him as I set my wine glass back on the table. "May I help you with something?"

"You!" He hissed. "It was you!"

I did not deign to reply to him. After all, it was entirely inappropriate to leave ones seat at the dinner table without begging the pardon of present company.

As I slid my hand back from the glass, VanHollus snarled and drew his hand back. In a swift motion, which I fortunately anticipated, he slammed his fish fork and pierced the wood beneath the table cloth where my hand had been moments before.

Around us chairs, toppled as startled men and women leapt out of the way, abandoning their places. Willett shot to his feet shouting, "What is the meaning of this?"

Defiantly, I remained seated, to all appearances calm and collected. Under my vest I felt the top of the blade hilt. I highly doubted that his fish fork stood a chance and yet, I should hate to bend the tines of my gracious host, even in self defense.

VanHollus's finger shook in the air, the words accompanied by foam. "This man is a thief!"

"A thief?" I languidly lifted my right hand. "That is the second time you have accused me of such a deed when I have done nothing of the sort."

Eyeing the pierced table, Willett scowled. This had been an heirloom passed down through the family, the dining hall had been made to measure with the table in mind. Even the stone work had mirrored the carvings. "VanHollus," he demanded, "where is your proof!"

He reached for my hand, which I denied him. Instead he jabbed his finger at me. "His ring! Look at his ring. The signet ring is proof."

Blandly I flipped my hand over and studied the silver piece of jewelry. The design had been my own creation. Joviette had done a marvelous job fashioning the sketch into the ring, my elaborately curled E connecting the drafting compass with the feather quill crossing it. I had barely had the ring for a week and it still shined in the gaslights.

"Oh, I assure you. This ring is not stolen. It was a commission." Mockingly, I waved it before him. "Finely crafted, do you not think so? If you fancy something original I should be happy to introduce you to the craftsman who produced it."

VanHollus flashed his left hand gleaming with metal baubles. "I have my own signet ring."

"Yes. Indeed, the family's inherited one. How very fortunate."

Pounding his fist on the table he bellowed, "That ring on your finger! It was the same on the deeds to my plots of land!"

Ignoring his tantrum, unlike the rest of the guests who were backing up from the table slowly, I cocked my head as if in thought. So, I had been right! When I had left the office, I had thought I had seen his carriage pull up. "Yours? Well. I did acquire some land earlier today. But I assure you, it was purchased legally. I am certain that I followed proper procedure with the clerk."

His teeth squealed against one another. "You purchased every single plot I had selected. How? How dare you have the audacity to slap me in the face like that!"

The room was deathly silent as I pushed the chair back and rose from my seat. Looming over VanHollus, I sternly asserted, "If you were observant, you would know the answer to how. I am certain that even provided with a week to consider the passage of today's events you would still remain oblivious to your blunder."

"Then you did steal my land! You admit it!"

I narrowed my eyes. "I have _stolen_ nothing but an opportunity. Too late, you will realize what you have entirely overlooked."

He reached up in an effort to snatch my lapels, "Who told you?"

Stepping back out of his range, I watched him stumble. "You do not know his name so it would do you little good."

Once more he advanced, his hand raised. I caught his attempted strike and held his wrist firmly, watching him writhing in panic.

"VanHollus. You are an uninvited guest here. That is right, I was privy to the list Willett made for this evening and I know you invited yourself. It was only by his admirable grace that you were permitted to stay. You behavior is beyond the pale. Is it your desire to find yourself on the other end of a sword blade? You witnessed the last duel. It did not end so well for the man you sacrificed."

A murmur traveled through the hall.

Between my vice grip, his supple wrist faltered in an effort to break free. Two years of working stone made my hand more than a match for one accustomed to only lifting a wine glass. The calloused skin of my fingers also aided in making my grip inescapable.

Wide-eyed, he reached forward with his other hand and tried to pry my fingers loose. It was like satin brushing against them, nothing more. The moment I spoke, he froze.

"You have a choice. Before exiting this hall, turn and apologize to Mister Willett for damaging his property and interrupting his party. Or, if you insist on claiming that you are not mistaken in your accusation, declare it formally. And on the morrow you will require the aid of a second."

A dry tongue brushed against his lips as he stared with dread up at my mask. A tremble betrayed him.

"Think _very_ carefully about this, VanHollus." I released his wrist.

He immediately clasped his other hand around the limb, glaring up like a wounded animal. "I am the premiere architect on this island! My teams are the best! You are stealing everything from me—contracts, crews, and now land."

Folding my arms across my chest I shook my head. "I have taken nothing that you did not throw carelessly away. The men you dismissed without so much as a consideration to their potential, I employed to build the contracts signed by those who found my work worthy."

Bristling, he snapped, "Men who would hire a freak!"

Only pride kept me from cringing at the word. After a thoughtful pause, I replied. "Your latest obsession? I hear you intended to engage in the shameful business of collecting … oddities."

VanHollus blanched. "What? How did you hear about that?"

No words needed. I only smiled.

Surging forward again he demanded, "Who told you about the Shaded Crest Oddities project? Who? I will have the man run through!"

"Why, you did."

"Never! How did you hear? Tell me! How did you hear?"

Savoring the paranoia in his eyes, I remained silent watching as he clawed at the air trying puzzle out the truth. I let him mutter madly to himself for a few moments before I stated, "So you confirm that you were indeed going into such a detestable business."

He snapped his wild gaze at me and laughed. "Collecting freaks of nature is profitable. They don't belong amidst the likes of the well-to-do. They are more suited to be shut away to be gawked at!"

There was no suppressing the shiver. This time it escaped my control before I could master it. Stiffly I glared down at him before motion to my right caught my attention.

Willett placed a hand on VanHollus's shoulder. "You are upsetting my guests. I must request you leave, now."

VanHollus ducked away from him, clutching the air with his hands. "I am upsetting the guests? I belong here. This is my society, my kind of people. This … this … imposter doesn't belong here! Look at him, he isn't a gentleman! Willett, you have been deceived. You and every one of those who have hired him. You have done business with a man who is unwilling to show his face. What is the reason for the mask, Erik? Why do you wear it?"

Heartbeat thundering in my ears, I felt the ground sway. Around me inquisitive glances grabbed my attention. Everyone stole at least one, a few just stared. Even the servants along the edges of the room were snatching a quick peek around their trays. The crowds—the piercing gazes of the crowds gawking at my naked face. I would never submit to that humiliation … ever again. Against my will, I felt the hyperventilation begin.

"Only men who have something to hide wear masks," VanHollus snarled. "You have invited him into your circle, a man of crude birth. With that comes your ruin!"

My hand pulsed into a fist. I trembled with the urge to silence him. To smash his jaw so completely he would be forced to drink his nourishment for the remainder of his days. A furious Willett stood between us. Sure, I was certain I could deliver a strategic blow and only contact my target.

"Get out of my house!" Willett grasped VanHollus and flung him towards the door. "I never want to see you again."

Just as VanHollus turned back, adamant in continuing, a manservant grabbed him by the collar and shoved his screaming body out of the door.

No one moved. In the wake, I stood staring at my fist, desperate to hold back the fury I could not afford to unleash. Willett cleared his throat and called out, "Let us momentarily retire to the drawing room for some cognac. The staff will tidy things up in here and we can resume dinner in a short while. Come."

They stole glances. Every one of them, their eyes searching me. My hands shook as I approached the table. What were they thinking? I didn't need the whispering of a voice inside my head to imagine their thoughts.

The stone facade cracked. Frantically I scrambled to even begin to repair it.

"Erik?" Willett and I stood alone in the dining hall. When had everyone else filed out? "Are you coming?"

Trembling, I fetched my gloves from the table and pulled them on. Unable to even met his eyes, I offered him a bow. "Regretfully, I must decline. My appetite has been quite ruined for this evening."

"You are the guest of honor," he insisted. "Please stay."

My eyes refused to leave the floor. "Enjoy your mansion Willett. It was a pleasure doing business with you. I know my way out."

Without a backward glance, I departed. The entire ride north was spent watching every shadow in the alley, every shift in the woodlands. I was a hunted animal—whether or not anyone followed mattered not. The threat lurking in the shadows of my mind was real enough.

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

"Imposter. The man is an imposter!" I declared, the decanter clattering against the crystal glass. Amber liquid sloshed onto the silver tray. Slamming the decanter down, I bellowed, "Clean this up you lazy sot of a servant!"

Around the doorframe, a mousy man appeared holding a towel. He blinked at the mess.

"To work. Do you want to embarrass me in front of my guests?" Picking up my glass I resumed my stalking.

Eyeing me sideways, the manservant crept up to the table and mopped up the spill.

"Gentlemen, we need to deal with this cur decisively. A plan needs to be set into motion to cleanse the society of this unworthy mountebank. One way or another, no matter what it takes, we need to find some way to deal him irreparable damage. His company must be dismantled. He must be either crippled or his life ended. A duel is out of the question. We have seen him kill. That is another thing. A gentleman doesn't kill. Surely one of you knows someone who can be hired for such a task."

Silence.

Tapping my foot, I glared. "Is no one else eager to see him buried? Am I alone in this? Speak up!"

The servant cast me a sheepish glance which I caught as I turned to refill my glass once more.

"Don't stare at me!" The glass shattered against the wall, raining him in shards of crystal. "You ungrateful piss-pot! What the hell are you looking at?"

Shuddering, he ducked behind the shelter of the table, peering at me over the top. "Beggin' your pardon, Sir, but who are you expecting to answer you? None of the gentlemen you sent me to invite came."

"Useless burden under my roof!" Grasping his arm, I dragged him through the hallway to the door throwing him out onto the street. "You're done here!"

Standing in the middle of the entryway I bellowed, "Servants! Where are my servants?"

The clatter of shoes in the hall caught my attention, the babble of a baby. Up on the stair landing, my wife embraced my infant son, a weary expression on her face as she looked out the window at the street. "You just threw out our last one."


	46. Chapter 46

_**Chapter 46**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

I studied the chessboard to no avail. My white pieces were a muddled mess across the patterned squares. No move came to me, no conceivable way to advance my position. Clearing my mind of the problem, I gazed out the window, watching the fat flakes of snow falling. Days had passed since winter's fury had snowed us into the quarry house. It was hardly a worry. The cellar had been well stocked for just such a situation, Erik was well practiced from his times in purposeful isolation. That was a good thing, as the snow showed no signs of letting up.

Nor did Erik's obsessive energy. His office desk was cluttered with projects. The ledger book with his business crest on the cover had been tallied with forecasted expenses for the upcoming year. Rolled into slots, were collections of each client's drafts. Nearly all of them had been completed and were ready to begin the day the ground permitted it. The last few had adjustments made, only awaiting a chance for Erik to meet with the client for approval. The weather made that impossible for now. Dried herbs lay strewn atop the pages of a journal written in his tightly scripted French. I had glimpsed what I believed to be an ongoing study on sleeping properties of the plants. I could only guess what he was up to. Gears and springs spread out on one corner of the desk held down the edges of a sketch I could not even begin to understand. Regretfully, I had chosen the wrong time to ask Erik. In his distraction he had openly ignored the query and when I asked again later, he outright turned his back to me. A miser to his secrets.

For awhile, I was worried the boundary had been passed and that he would forever forbid me from entering the office. That was, until this morning, when he knocked on my door and insisted on a game of chess.

The scratch of the quill across the paper drew me back. He was humming a soft little tune from an opera, one I had recalled seeing in Paris, although its name now escaped me. Dismally, I looked back at the board. I had to make a move sometime. Reaching forward, I shifted my rook. It did me no good but I could hardly glimpse a pattern.

I did not need to even say I had made my turn. Despite his eyes being on the draft, Erik immediately plucked his queen from the board and abolished my rook. His left hand never ceased sketching.

"You could at least glance at the board." I remarked with a sigh. "How do you know you didn't just set yourself up?"

"Because you just fell into the trap." He dipped the quill into the ink pot. "Check, by the way. And if you move the wrong piece you make it _shāh māt_."

I scowled at him for using the Persian term for checkmate. "Well, thank you very much for the warning."

His hand traced an elegant embellishment on the paper. "There is a way to get out of it. But it requires a sacrifice. That is my only hint to you, Daroga."

My eyes narrowed. "How many times must I tell you to stop calling me that!"

Bluntly he replied, "Until it no longer bothers you."

With a huff, I frantically searched the board. I saw one threat. His queen was in place now for a merciless claim. I could take her with my bishop. But … scrutinizing the board, I was missing something. How could this become checkmate? He was forcing a move. What if I shifted my king? That was the point. Get him out of danger. There was one place I could move him.

I glanced up at Erik, his quill still detailing a flourish on what appeared to be a rather large building that was growing by the turn. What had he done on the board that I was missing? Minutes ticked by as I roved my eyes over the little pieces hoping for some revelation.

Nothing came. Get the king out of danger. Hesitantly I moved him forward.

Silence.

Erik slowly turned to the board. "I am surprised at you. I thought you were going to honestly try this time. But if you insist on sacrificing the one piece you are supposed to protect, what am I to do with you?"

"He's out of danger." I shrugged … and then I followed the flick of his finger. Oh Allah, Erik's bishop and his knight both could claim the king. I had been so frantic about his queen I had thrown my king into a worse situation entirely.

He chuckled quietly, "For someone intent upon watching over my actions, you are astoundingly easy to deceive. That arrangement was in place nine moves back. When I spoke of sacrifice, I was not referencing throwing the entire game away."

"How could I have won?"

Erik's eyes barely flicked to the board. Instead of telling me, he just remained silent, a knowing smile peeking below the mask.

"Fine. You ask me to play chess and then mock me when I lose. The least you could do is give the game your full attention."

Was that a shred of guilt in his eyes? I swore I glimpsed it before his gaze fell to his folded hands. No longer holding the quill, they were restlessly betraying the state of mind behind them. "I asked you to play because one distraction was not enough."

Holding my hand out to the array of objects on the desk, I declared, "One? Erik, you never cease. Always moving, striving, tinkering—when will you find the ability to relax?"

He didn't look up. A near undetectable shrug was all I noted before he spoke, his voice just above a whisper. "Experience indicates that will only happen in death."

So much sincerity in those words. Any reply I could have hoped to offer him remained caught in my throat.

Absentmindedly, he rose from the chair. Drifting across the room he lingered by the mantle. His fingers caressed the freshly oiled sword. It was a comfort to see the weapon that had ended the lives of so many merely displayed, not tucked at the ready to defend its master. This had been yet another task performed within the last week, for I recalled tripping over it a fortnight ago.

Erik paced the room, his fingers toying with the silver signet ring without purpose. The telling signs of turbulence barely below the surface. I could only begin to guess which of a dozen things might be plaguing him. I glanced once more at the plants atop the journal, evidence he was trying to find some way to rest. The opium only blunted the edge. Apparently he needed something more to still the thoughts within.

I waited, wondering if he had forgotten that he wasn't alone.

He pulled the ring from his finger and held it up, appraising it in the winter's light. "Such a simple thing, a mark meant in honor. The sign of a gentleman."

"Rings have been used throughout all of history to denote men who garner respect."

In a motion I could barely glimpse, the ring seemed to vanish into thin air. He studied his empty palm morosely. "All an illusion. I kept trying to convince myself that here there was a chance for the world to work differently. Here men would be driven by fresh ideals on foundations laid in honesty. Lies and deceptions always pervade. Every ill move concealed by some display meant to distract with more extravagance than the grandest of magicians."

A flick of his hand and the ring once more appeared on his long finger. It still made me stare in awe, wishing I had the courage to ask him to show the secret.

"Nadir … I have devised only one way … " The words faded, he shook his head. Pacing to the window he leaned against the frame. "I cannot allow failure. There is but one way to prevent it."

Slowly I rose from the chair. That distant expression in his eyes troubled me. I searched his desk again, the ever growing draft on the top capturing my eyes for a moment before I glimpsed a letter with elegant writing that did not belong to Erik. I picked it up and skimmed the contents. It was a thank you and a request to save the date … for a wedding? For whom? I unfolded the bottom edge and just stared at the signature.

Chastity?

He plucked the letter from my hand, folding it back up. "Before you ask, yes, I did introduce Dougal to Chastity. She is an excellent seamstress and he was impressed by her skills. The man is intent upon running some of the best textiles in partnership with Reed. What better way to showcase that than by demonstrating what can be done with them. I had only been vaguely aware that Dougal had not yet found a suitable wife. Not only were the two well matched, Chastity is from a grand English family line that regrettably perished in a ship wreck crossing the Atlantic after her marriage here in America. That was how she had fallen upon hard times. When her husband died here, his family abandoned her. Dougal fell in love with her and the two have been in quiet courtship for some time."

It never could have worked. I had to repeat it to myself, even as I shook my head. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because … I knew you would be … devastated."

I cut the air with my hand. "You knew? You knew I had feelings for her?"

Somberly he replied, "A blind man would have seen it. Just as easily as he would have seen you still mourn your deceased. Let Chastity go. She is out of the Bowery. I have paid her back in full for how well she aided you in … " Once more his words faltered into silence.

" … saving you."

A nod was his only acknowledgment. Still couldn't say it. He straightened up, tapping the letter against his fingers. "Dougal has sold me one of his textile mills."

"Why? Are you getting into fabrics?"

He cast his eyes over the rolled up drafts in a tactical line. A gesture I knew. It was how he studied a chessboard.

A chessboard.

There it was, on the desk, the pieces of a game laid out and I could not even hope to glimpse the complex strategy.

"The more I can supply to a client, the more willing they are to seek me out. The broader my foundation, the greater the chance of being able to evade disaster. Once I am done building my empire here, Nadir, I intend to have it so secure that no conniving little plan can topple it. That was where VanHollus made his mistake. He was only an architect. Just the designer, nothing more. Once he faltered and society started to turn their back on him, there was nothing left. The industry was shut out. His circle is hopelessly broken by his own actions, leaving him without a hope to regain clients. As I have heard, he is living off his remaining fortune. Once it is gone … well. The man is powerless."

I tried to wrap my mind around his rapid speech. "What are you saying?"

"I cannot just be an architect and a stone mason, Nadir. I have to be more."

"Don't get greedy, Erik."

"I am not. That is hardly the driving force. The more industries I have access to, the more I can offer a client everything they desire … from start to finish. I become of greater value, less at risk … You see, I just want to live without—" He froze, the intended word utterly died on his lips. The span of several breaths passed before he muttered without conviction, "—concern." That wasn't the right word at all, but his pride wouldn't let him reveal it. Not even to me.

"Erik, you are not like VanHollus. Honestly, from what I know of the man he was a fool."

"Fools can be dangerous," he replied distantly, his eyes roving over the draft.

I vaguely recognized the entrance. But it had been wreathed in smoke. Now, it was a cleaner version of the one I had seen him draw earlier this year. But now there was so much more. Now there were two wings stretching out on either side of the three story structure. "What's this?"

He picked up the edge of it, a slight tremble in his hand. "My future." Underneath it, I discovered more pages showing the inside of a sprawling mansion. Room after room filled with sketches and details. "Reed is right. The quarry is too far from the city. Clients are loath to undertake this journey. By the end of next year I will be a proper gentleman with a proper house in the city."

"We're moving back?" I gawked.

He nodded, laying the draft back on the table. "Unless you wish to stay another summer watching over the quarry for me. If you like it that much you are welcome to it. I plan to declare a quarry master and this room will become the his office." He pointed to a parlor drawn on the ground floor of the mansion. "Clients will meet with me here."

My eyes swiftly took in the dimensions of the building. "Dear Allah, this place is … huge! Erik, do you have any idea how much land it would require?"

He reached forward and pulled out a map of the city. Calmly, he unrolled it and pointed to a full block right across the street from the southern edge of Central Park. "About this much. I confess, I had hardly intended for it grow so large. This entrance started it all. It needs this much for balance. I have no idea what I will do with the western wing. The rooftop garden I have planned will be beautiful." He pointed to another room on the third floor. "My laboratory. How I have missed exploring the secrets of nature. Of course, there will be a music room … "

My jaw hung slack. Maybe it would be better to be in the city where I could keep a closer eye on him. When had Erik acquired this lot?

"They will come to _Clef de Voute Manoir,_ " he continued wistfully. "They will come to my mansion and see the extent of what I can do and they will not see … they will not see … " His hands strayed up and embraced the mask. "I must leave them with no doubt. This next season with all the new crews that flocked to me we will build, we will complete masterpieces, and we will create the showcase worthy of housing an architect. They will see by the house I live in the skill I possess. I must complete it next year."

Was he blind to the number of contracts neatly rolled into the shelves of his desk? They saw his worth. They knew his skill and I knew, by this ambitious draft before me, that he was paid very well for his services.

"So you see, this is not greed." He tossed his hand in the air as he strode across the room. "Nothing of the sort. This is self-preservation. No one will ever ask or care about my mask ever again."

There was a moment where his voice had cracked. Watching him pick up the Stradivarius from the case, now I could see how much he fought against the currents. The instrument had recently been polished, the strings replaced. Another activity for his hands, another attempt to distract. This was going to be a very difficult winter for him. Swiftly he tuned it before he shut out the world behind closed eyes and sank the bow into a beautiful piece.

My heart broke as I watched the tear tremble in the corner of his eye before it fell behind the mask. The song he played … he played for the one thing he knew he would never have in this world … Christine.


	47. Chapter 47

_**Chapter 47**_

 _ **~Erik~**_

I held the plans aloft, spring sunlight bringing out the black lines. All winter, cloistered in the house, I had been sketching on the drafts until I was certain I had it perfect. Every line, every detail. This place would be like nothing else on this island. That was precisely my goal.

My new house would not be a twisted structure like my refuge by the underground lake had been. That one had never been intended to be seen and I had hardly been in my right mind while building it. This one was intended to grasp the attention and not let it go. A perfect Beaux Arts style mansion meticulously balanced and embellished. Three full stories above ground plus a vast cellar for storing food and wine … and Nadir's whiskey. The old man had decided it best to keep watch over me. Though I had made a small rant over having to add a room to the plans, that had been an act. Right from the beginning I had planned a place for him. A quiet little room tucked on the main floor. No more heights for him. Of course, I couldn't let myself be too gracious. My music room was across the hall.

Cavilade peered over my shoulder at the plans before I lowered them to allow an uninterrupted view of the empty block. "You told me it would be a challenge. I am not certain I can finish this in a season."

"That is why I will be here with my team for at least two days of each week. I appreciate a man of your calibre shouldering a great deal of the work."

He bowed his head a bit. "To be asked to build an employer's home when I have yet to prove my skills … "

Handing him the drafts I snapped a nod. "I have seen your skill. That was why, when I heard of your unfortunate situation, I did not hesitate to have you join me."

"Is the ground ready?"

We made our way across the street in the brisk morning air. "I checked it yesterday morning. Fully drained and dry. If everything goes as planned this foundation should be perfect."

As we passed by a cart ,Bevier was unloading the gear required to break the ground. He glanced up at me. "Morning to you, Bevier." The color drained from his face at my words.

Cavilade gave him a little nod. We were standing in the midst of the lot when he cleared his throat. "When Bevier came to me last year, frantic with your offer, I was reluctant to believe that there was hope. I had been about to pack up and leave the city, as were many of my men and their families. I never imagined that our first project would be something like … this."

Grasping my wrists behind my back I studied him for a long moment. "Is the fee enough?"

He jerked upright. "Of course! I'm just a little intimidated by the level of detail."

"You should not be. If you should have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. Work well and I anticipate that, before long, you shall have a business of your own."

"You … you would not turn me away … "

"No, I mean that you have enough skill to produce your own work one day."

He shifted uncomfortably. "That doesn't worry you? Competition?"

I shook my head slowly. "A man confident in his own skills welcomes the challenge to display against others. Now come, it is time we begin. I wish to move in before the first frost."

Cavilade grinned. "I wish to complete this ahead of your schedule."

 _ **~VanHollus~**_

The newspaper is full hideous lies! Black and white printing crowing of the triumphant new buildings now gracing the horizon. That used to be my name there. Used to be my work they praised. Not what that worthless immigrant calls architecture.

His voice still echoed in my head. That smooth courtly voice that lured them into his clutches. Oh, I saw beyond the fancy attire he wore. I remembered the soot stained, ragged man who presented himself at the duel. The wretched masked man.

He had been living up at his quarry of limestone and marble. Living in a house far from the city with his crews. Hiding behind a mask.

I had glimpsed him. From around corners, I had spent all season watching him build on my land, my plots, which he had stolen. Watched his stonework progress block by block. He had been at every project working with his men.

Working!

The entitled do not work. He is a fraud, he is a deceitful liar and a thief.

No one else will help me. They have all been conned by him. Oh yes, every one of them has fallen victim to his vile deceptions. But I, I alone have the clarity of mind to see what he truly is. A monster. There is no hope of hunting him by direct weapon. I remember his grasp. Too strong, too strong.

No, this will require something more. And at last I have my opportunity. The fool returns to the city. He returns to live in the city at the end of the week. He moves into his private mansion on the very place I was going to build my cabinet of curiosities. The man mocks me. But he will pay. He will pay dearly!

How much will it take? He is a wisp of a man. Hardly anything to him, so it should not take very many drops to drop him into a grave. Oh come and pass the time fleetly. I long to see him turning cold and blue, buried in a paupers grave. I will dance with glee!

Throwing the newspaper into the flames I watched the headline crumple, slowly obscured by black. **Shadowcrest Industries Newest Building, Master Architect Holds Grand Celebration**.

Revel while you can. I am coming for you, Erik.


	48. Chapter 48

_**Chapter 48**_

 _ **~Nadir~**_

I had never seen such a spectacle since the Paris Opera. Men attired as though they were to going to the opening of a grand event. Their ladies dresses shimmering with silks, dripping with lace and jewels. Erik's vast ballroom was aswirl with colors. The opportunity to tour his mansion had attracted quite a crowd. Truly, they had been as astonished as I had when I first saw it.

The vast library with its polished oak shelves was only half stocked with books. Wood carved beasts commissioned from a carpenter perched upon pillars, kept watch over the hall. His laboratory was nearly ready for use with the gas lines installed for the burners. The lavish polished marble bathroom was complete with all the newest plumbing. Every room promised splendour and luxury. The mansion was completely built, however Erik still intended to add carved friezes throughout the interior halls over the winter months. He had concentrated on the entryway with the large staircase and oaken door. Undoubtedly every guest was left with a staggering impression the moment the door opened. A stately chandelier hung from the ceiling, spreading its gaslight into the tall space.

Everyone had long since gathered in the ballroom, a two story space with stained glass windows and patterned marble floors. Sipping the champagne, I tried not to feel out of place as I wandered through the crowd. I only recognized about half a dozen of them. The rest were complete strangers. To my wonder, Erik was chatting away with a number of his guests, revealing only a little of that stiff reservation. More than once, I spied his chest rising with a bit of pride. And it should. This place was everything he had said it would be. As of yet I had found no hidden passageways or strange tunnels. Only one locked door on the third floor neatly concealed in a corner. The room behind could hardly be large.

A glint caught my eyes. I looked up and felt the blood rise to my face. Right in the middle of the ballroom, Erik had mounted the diamond he had stolen from the shah's throne! It truly was lovely—but he had stolen it! I had witnessed it.

Somehow I had known he had kept the damn thing all these years. After all he adored things of beauty and the way that diamond split the light was breathtaking. Oh, once this party was over he and I would have a little talk. That could not stay here. Not in public. If anyone recognized it …

Who would possibly know? Taking a sip, I had to quell my temper. The crime had been committed over three decades ago. What good would it do me to berate him about it now?

Besides, he had fought so hard this time to bring us both up out of the tenement we had landed in. It would be cruel not to afford him a little bit of a secret laugh at the shah's expense.

Beneath an arch, Erik set his glass of champagne on a table, both his hands becoming animated as he gestured up to the structure. Beside him a man gazed up, enamoured by the sight. This was Erik's time. At least he had listened to me when I had informed him there was no conceivable way for the two of us to maintain the house his zeal had built. He had reluctantly hired staff to care for it. That had taken many conversations. He was adamant about maintaining his privacy.

Some things would never change. I placed my empty glass on a passing servant's tray when a loud voice parted the crowd.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Let the celebration begin!"

A terrible murmur infected those around me and I picked out the uttered name … VanHollus.

I had to blink. _That_ was VanHollus? The same man who had been at the duel? How? Clothing that once fit snugly on him now hung shapeless and unwashed. He swayed as he walked up the center of the crowd toward Erik.

A slight tension invaded Erik's stance as he lowered the arm that had been pointing at the ceiling. No one said a word. We all just stared as VanHollus swaggered up to deliver a sloppy bow before Erik.

"Evening. This is a quite a palace you have built here," he chuckled.

"I must say, I am genuinely surprised to see you here, VanHollus." To his credit, Erik kept his voice level.

Sauntering about, VanHollus replied, "I brought my wife tonight as the papers have all been saying your work is a delight for the fairer sex to behold."

That was not what I recalled being in the articles. Something told me I was missing an insult due to translation. Erik's hand, flexing against the stem, confirmed it. He didn't reply. Instead he remained still, everyone in the room watched the pair.

"Please." VanHollus set his glass down beside Erik's and held out his hand. "I come here to offer truce."

"Truce?" Erik cocked his head. "I was unaware we were at war."

"A simple misunderstanding. All I wish to do now is pledge a toast."

In one elegant motion, Erik reached down and embraced the stem of a champagne glass. He said nothing, only gestured for VanHollus to continue.

Plucking the remaining glass from the table, VanHollus lifted it high and called out for everyone to hear, "Every now and then a man comes around who is unlike any other. Truly Monsieur Erik is creation all his own. On this auspicious evening, I raise a toast to his health." He lowered his glass, and watched as the crowd mimicked his gesture. Erik raised his and both men drank their champagne to the final drop.

VanHollus lowered his glass. A moment later, he burst into hysterical laughter, doubling over.

Stock-still, Erik observed the strange behavior with only a slight turn of his head, the glass still in his hand.


	49. Chapter 49

**_Chapter 49_**

 **~Erik~**

"Oh how dreadfully clumsy of me." I turned the glass within my fingers. "I seem to have accidentally switched glasses with you."

Before me, VanHollus's hysterical laughter was dashed into a tense silence. The vulgar man gradually straightened up with beads of sweat already blooming on his forehead. Wild eyes darted to the glass in my hand, then to the one in his own. He gasped in air, backing away from me in a frantic fit. Stumbling over his feet, he released the glass sending it to roll across the floor before darting through, pushing people out of his way.

I set my glass on the table before following the path he had cut through the crowd. There was a crude rasp to his breathing. Even if I could not see the man I could hear him. At the edge of the ballroom, he clung to a pillar, grasping his stomach.

"You are in very real danger. Let me help you." I reached out only to find my hand swatted away.

"Back! You are a rat!" He rounded on me before falling back against the pillar, doubling over in obvious pain. "I refuse to accept your help! There is nothing wrong."

"Really?" My eyebrows brushed against the back of my mask. "Tell me why, the moment you realized you had my glass, you panicked. VanHollus, what did you do?"

His eyes were hardly focusing, the twist of his gut audible. "Nothing, you gutter rat."

Around us, the crowd closed in staring in utter confusion.

"I can do nothing until you tell me what you put in my glass." I snapped, "The longer you wait the more damage it does."

"Always blaming me," he snarled. "Always accusing me. I don't need your help, don't want it. Leave me alone."

Nadir pushed his way through the company to tug on my arm. "Erik, for Allah's sake do something."

I stepped back, shrugging him off. "You heard the man. He refuses to let me. There is nothing I can do."

"Erik!" Nadir yelled.

"Nothing I can do until he is unconscious," I explained. "You honestly think I would let him die here? Hardly." That was all I wanted in the bloody papers. Death in architect's mansion. That would go over well.

VanHollus groaned, clutching his gut. His knees were beginning to give out as his color drained away. That was it. I had enough of this.

"Step back, Nadir." I barely waited for him to move before I swung a hard punch with my left hand into VanHollus's belly. The response was the immediate expulsion of the contents before he flopped forward.

I roughly pulled him away from the mess on the floor, gesturing to a worried servant nearby. "Clean that up and make certain to wash your hands thoroughly after. I will not lose a servant to this fool's errand."

I did not spare a single glance to see the compliance. I was feeling his pulse, watching his eyes failing to respond. VanHollus was in bad shape.

"What was it?" Nadir asked.

"You heard him." I eyed the glass on the floor which he promptly got up and fetched. "Rats." A quick smell of the rim and I nodded. "Which is precisely the most common use for that. I can smell it."

"Will he live?"

I shrugged, "He may, it depends upon how much entered his system. Run to the kitchen, fetch me some charcoal."

He squinted, but obeyed. In the span of time before he returned, hardly anyone moved. I glanced up to find a gaunt woman staring down dispassionately at the prone man. She made no gesture to aid him, only stood and watched as I monitored his vital signs.

At last Nadir returned with the gray powder, fortunately it was cool. I stripped my gloves off and crumbled it before pouring the powder down his throat and forcing him to swallow. "That is the best I can do. It may absorb enough to save him from the worst damage. But there is no doubting, if he lives through this, there will be evidence of his error."

My enemy lay in my hands. An enemy I never asked for … shades of this new world.

* * *

 **~Nadir~**

"Erik?"

He stood with his head bowed before the ballroom hearth. Motionless.

"Erik, the guests have all departed. Please. Step away from there now. I … I'll have the servants make us some tea. Just for the two of us."

He did not move.

My shoes clicked as I crossed the floor … an empty echo. His breathing was slow, very slow and painfully measured. "Staying here won't change anything."

His back remained to me. He said not a word.

"This wasn't your fault, no one blames you. It was obvious VanHollus had gone quite out of his mind." I waited and for all the world could have been hoping the stones would reply. "Please answer me, Erik."

I came around beside him. In his left hand he gripped the sword hilt. That blade had been over the hearth, on the hooks right before him now. It had simply been a piece of décor here.

Clasped in his hand, I was reminded of the weapon's deadly purpose. Erik trembled with each breath. His eyes beneath the mask wide and wary, plagued by … unbridled fear.

"Right here. Here in my home. It came." His words were breathy, the blade tip drifting in the air as he spoke. "In my glass, in my glass—poison. Again. Just like Persia. They dance up, they smile, they hand the glass and hope you do not look."

"Erik, give me the sword."

He shook his head stiffly, his eyes still unfocused. "Never again. No, Nadir. Not ever. I dropped my guard, too comfortable and he almost won. The world almost won. Almost succeeded in killing me. That could have been me! No more!"

I tried to reach for the hilt and he spun away, turning the bared blade to me. "Easy, what are you going to do? Wear yourself out keeping that in your hands? Erik, VanHollus was taken to the hospital. I heard the doctor myself. He'll be lucky if he wakes."

"Not alone." His wide eyes penetrated, leaving me to shiver. "There will always be more. More like him who will try. Again and again. I refuse to let that happen."

"You worked so hard." I pleaded, "So very hard to show these men what a gentleman you are. The whole world isn't like VanHollus."

"No," he whispered. "But they hide. They smile in the crowds, they slink up with a promise. I should have known. Should have known not to trust. Should have known I can only pretend to be one of them."

Once more I tried to edge around to his side, tried to gently take the blade from his white knuckled grasp. "You are not responsible for them, Erik. Just your own reactions. And today, you may have saved the ungrateful wretch's life." To my relief he loosened his grip and let me take it.

Staggering from me, he flopped down at the hearth, running his fingers through his hair. "That is the worst part of it. I am uncertain I did the right thing. Nadir … I could have stopped him from drinking in the first place. I knew he had done it and I let him poison himself! His wife, his son … they … "

" … are not your concern." I knelt before him. "You did not do this, and everyone knows that." A smile came onto my face. He blinked at me.

"What is so amusing to you?"

"I never thought I would say this, but perhaps I no longer must remain your conscience. You seem to have finally stumbled upon your own."

He looked away from me. Grasping the sword as he stood, he placed it back on the hooks, fingers trailing along the back of the blade. His shoes echoed as he walked across the marble floor, pausing to look at the shimmering diamond over his head. I thought I heard him murmur in Persian, "Believe what you wish."

 **~END~**

* * *

 _ **Author Notes**_

 _An incredible amount of research went into the entire "Nightingale's Odyssey" series. I was inspired by how Leroux and Kay both incorporated elements of real history within their stories. In an attempt to remain true to that intriguing quality, which leaves a reader to unwind the fact from fiction, I dove into the real world history as I pondered where I could envision Erik going if he went into self-exile after the Paris Opera. "Nightingale's Strain" is the first story I actually wrote. I knew I wanted to set in Manhattan in 1891 and in a short search discovered an appropriate project for Erik to be involved with. Once I completed that one, other plots poured out until a few beta readers asked me "how did he establish himself?" Ooooh, now I had hinted at that, but Erik tends to dismiss his rough first years in "Nightingale's Strain"... so I went back and told the struggle._

 _The research came in looking into the ever changing streets and culture of New York, each of the books in the series reflects that dynamic quality over the years-including places, street names, landmarks. Old street maps and historical building photo collections were a priceless resource. I utilized vintage cook books and medical manuals for how things would have been done back in that era. Music and book data bases, to be certain that Erik never referenced something ahead of its time. Oh yes, and of course manuals on proper etiquette which is where I discovered that despite dueling being outlawed, the elite still conducted duels in secrecy-often paying officers to look the other way._

 _Aside from shooting the photos for the covers, I have also created chapter headers and a few other pieces to accompany the novels. Regretfully, they cannot be viewed here due to formatting. These stories are available on my word press page under "Nightingale's Odyssey" along with the artwork for those who may be interested._

 _For those who are familiar with Kay's "Phantom" I based the world largely off of hers with a modification to the Epilogue... Erik is a master illusionist, so who's to say what one saw was the truth? This entire five novel collection is based off one enigmatic question, "what if...?"_


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